


A Safe Distance

by twobirdsonesong



Category: CrissColfer - Fandom, Glee RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Complete, Crushes, Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, Fandom Allusions & Cliches & References, Feelings, Friends to Lovers, Kink Meme, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Slow Build, Tropes, a surprising amount of smut in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 62,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4753157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has had something of a crush on Darren since the very beginning, but it takes the arrival of a guest star on Glee to force him to do anything about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic was written about three years ago to fill [this prompt](http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/28110.html?thread=30674382#t30674382) on the Glee Kink Meme. (Is that even still a thing?)
> 
> At the time, it contained an embarrassing amount of typos, errors, and other mistakes. Soon after it was completed, [thesongsparrow](http://thesongsparrow.tumblr.com/) was kind of enough to go through the fic in its entirety and list out all of my typos for me. 
> 
> However, due to any number of factors I won't bother listing, I never finished editing the fic, and so I never posted it here, knowing how many mistakes remained in the text.
> 
> But now, I've edited all those typos and feel comfortable enough to post the fic here, mainly for archival purposes. So, it's not a "new" fic (it's three years old), but it hasn't been posted here before. Obviously, my writing style has changed noticeably since I wrote this, but I hope anyone who wishes to read it now might still find it enjoyable.
> 
> xoxo twobirds

In retrospect, the first months were easy for Chris.

 

The novelty of _Darren Criss_ was all bound up in the thrill of an exciting storyline for Kurt, a beautiful new location to film at, and a whole group of fun new guys to make friends with. And of course there was the wardrobe that wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as his usually was.

 

Sure the pants were just a step up from polyester, chafed when he got over-warm, and did nothing for his ass.  But they clung to his thighs rather nicely, and the Dalton blazer accentuated how broad his shoulders were getting.  It was a relief to give his calves a break from the weight of some of those boots, even if they brought his height back down an inch or two.  At least he didn’t have to stand next to Cory as often anymore.  Standing next to Darren made up for the lost inches of his missing boots though.

 

 

Chris was always one to throw himself into his work, using it as an escape and a distraction. Beyond Glee, he had his book and his movie to worry about and to stress over.  His agent and publicist were never far from him anymore. Between those three obligations (and damn if he didn’t panic sometimes thinking about what he’d gotten himself into), there were a million and twelve things to keep busy with, to occupy his time, and to focus on.

 

There were more nights than he cared to count when he woke up at 3 o’clock in the morning on the couch with his laptop hot on his stomach and his Blackberry wedged uncomfortably under the small of his back.

 

But still, despite the ever-increasing demands on his attention, always on the edge of Chris’ awareness was Darren.

 

Darren, who was smaller in person than expected and surprisingly shy at first, and who hung back on the lot, squinting uncertainly at the PAs and cast members who rushed around and ignored him because they had no idea who this kid with the Freelance Whales tote bag was.  Always on Chris’ mind was Darren who came to set the first day with pressed jeans and saddle shoes and newly cut hair that he was clearly self-conscious about, given the way he constantly ran his hand through it, making a move to push curls off his forehead only to find that there were none there.

 

When Chris had introduced himself to Darren, shaking his hand perhaps a little too enthusiastically (first wiping his sweating palm off on his pants), he couldn’t help but think of the mass of curls he’d grown so accustomed to from the YouTube videos he’d begun to carefully erase from his Internet history.  It had been mortifying enough to blurt out to Darren in the first three minutes of conversation how many times he’d watched _A Very Potter Musical_ ; he wasn’t going to stick his foot even further down his throat by waxing nostalgic over his new co-star’s _hair_ of all things.

 

Even if sometimes it was all Chris could do not to reach out and thread his hands through Darren’s hair, wrap the curls tight around his fingers and find out for himself if they were as soft as they looked.  Find out if Darren liked it when he tugged, just a little, just enough for him to feel it in his scalp, shivering down his spine. But there were some lines that Chris wasn’t willing to cross, and petting Darren’s hair seemed just on the other side of those lines.

 

 _Hands to yourself,_ he thought.   _Keep it professional,_ he told himself.

 

And he did. He tried.  For weeks he tried, keeping Darren at a safe distance – close, but not too close.  Affable, but professional.  _Co-workers_.  But Darren was a fast friend – quick to work his way into Chris’ life without even trying.  Darren saved a seat for him when they had the same lunch break; sent him ridiculous text messages when he knew Chris was feeling especially stressed. And Chris wasn’t going to deny himself such closeness with another person, another man, not when it came so easily and so naturally.

 

Darren felt right, comfortable.  And every day brought Chris one step closer to Darren, until he was sure he’d find that tenuous separation between friend and _more_ and he’d stop there.  He could stop there.

 

Filming with Darren was an animal unto itself, one that never failed to impress Chris.

 

Darren was a consummate professional, day in and day out.  Chris knew better than to judge a person’s character by a few grainy videos on the Internet, but the image of the doofy college kid with huge hair and wide eyes strumming out Disney songs on a beat up guitar struck a dissonant note with the reality of the man who now acted alongside him.

 

Darren came to work early, knew his lines inside and out, and worked his admittedly wonderful ass off with Zach in the dance studio, often scheduling extra practice sessions to help make up for the gap between his dancing abilities and the rest of the cast.  It wasn’t that he wasn’t a great dancer – he was – but Chris remembered how hard it was at first to learn the choreography in such a short time, week after week. True, the Warblers’ step-touching took a bit less work than some of the New Directions’ more elaborate numbers, but the fact remained that it took practice and repetition just to learn _how_ to learn Zach’s choreography in such a short amount of time.

 

That would have been fine, that would have been satisfied him, knowing he was working with someone who cared so much, and who took his job just as seriously as Chris did.

 

But his attraction to his co-star had risen up in Chris like the tide.  Darren’s eyes.  The narrowness of his waist.  The long curve of his back.  The bark of his laughter.  The sharp line of his hips.  It came up on Chris slow enough - gentle enough - not to alarm him at first, but it pulsed ever higher, sure as anything; starting at his ankles and rising until his chest constricted with the pressure of the want of him, until the water flooded his mouth with the need for him.

 

He couldn’t shake it – he didn’t want to.  He liked the way his veins flooded with affectionate warmth at the sight of Darren, snuffling sleepily and rubbing at his eyes on those extra early mornings. He reveled in the way his skin tingled whenever Darren brushed past him; his own personal boundaries lines were so much closer than Chris’ own.

 

Chris couldn’t shake his craving, but he could rein it in, let it ebb and flow just under his skin and never spill over.  Usually.

 

The first time Chris found one of Darren’s hoodies in his trailer, thrown casually over the back of the sofa, he left it there for three whole hours before he’d given in and picked up, pressed the worn fabric to his face and inhaled the scent of Darren, pulling it deep into his bones.  He’d blushed furiously when he’d given the jacket back to Darren, still able to taste the scent of him on his tongue.  Darren hadn’t seemed to notice – just laughed as he took that jacket, and apologized for leaving it in the first place.

 

But then there were the kisses.

 

Before Darren was cast, Ryan Murphy had told Chris that they were bringing someone onto the show to act as a mentor for Kurt, but from the moment he’d read the script for “Never Been Kissed,” with Blaine singing _Teenage Dream_ directly to Kurt, all dreamy eyes and dapper air, Chris had known it would only be a matter of time before Ryan changed his mind about Blaine’s character and made him a love interest.

 

And then the script for “Original Song” had shown up.

 

The realization, when he’d had it, struck him like lightning.  It sent a shudder up his spine and curled his toes. He would kiss Darren; he would be kissed by Darren.  And he knew then it wouldn’t be the only episode in which they would share physical intimacy, but he didn’t yet know how far they’d go.

 

When asked about it later, Chris would tell everyone that yes of course Darren was a good kisser, but the truth of it was he hardly remembered that first one all. Not the details anyway. All he remembered was the heat and the taste and the wet of Darren’s tongue against his lips and in his mouth. Over and over again.

 

It took everything Chris had to be good during those scenes, to be professional. It too everything to hold himself back, to let go just enough for the sake of the realism of the scene, with hands and lips and tongue and hips, but not so far that he made Darren uncomfortable.  Darren never, ever seemed uncomfortable with anything they did, pushing for more, _more_ each take, but Chris wasn’t going to go searching for Darren’s limit, even though Darren’s limit seemed almost non-existent.

 

There were nights after filming when all Chris could do was fist his hands in his hair as he twisted restlessly against his bed, hips rocking, groaning low and desperate as the sheet dragged against his cock, hard and flushed against his stomach.

 

He’d give up then, squeezing his eyes shut as he stroked his hand across his chest, plucked at his nipples, and slid it down his belly.  Images of Darren flashed against his eyelids as he gripped his cock, too roughly at first, hips jerking off the bed at the friction. A gasp escaped his throat as he stroked hard once, twice more before slowing as he finally let himself have this, as he let himself enjoy this.

  
He thought of Darren in his Dalton blazer, laughing as he tugged at his cuffs; Darren loosening the knot of his tie, fingers long and tan against the dark fabric; Darren squirming in the hair and makeup chair as they slicked his hair down and back, turning him from Darren to Blaine with a few brushes.

 

_Darren.  Darren._

 

Chris groaned and twisted his wrist on the upstroke, spreading the leaking moisture across the head and back down the length of his cock.  His thighs spread wide as he reached down with his other hand, palmed his balls and let the tip of his middle finger brush against his opening.  Not pressing inside, just a light touch, but enough.

 

He bit back the word he wanted to moan as he came, body strung tight and arching.

 

The Glee Live tour was an exercise in self-restraint for Chris.  It was fun and exciting and overwhelming, even the second time around.  But this time, there was Darren - Darren on the bus and backstage, sleeping in the bed next to him when the room rotation brought him to Chris’ hotel room. He spent those nights turned away from Darren, unwilling to risk getting caught staring at his profile in the early morning light.

 

Chris did what he could to keep things light and easy between them.  He spent more time than he cared to admit to thinking of ways to alter and adapt their skit to each city, looking for ways to break through Darren’s surprisingly unyielding poker face.

 

He never once imagined that it would be Darren to break him.  On stage.  In front of everyone.

 

Chris never admitted it to anyone, not even Ashley, who he told _everything_ , that he replayed that kiss more often than was probably healthy.  He thought about it alone at night, tangled up in his sheets, his hands dragging slow and careful across his chest, palms catching on his nipples.  He thought of the way Darren had reached for him – like he wanted him, like he _needed_ to get at him more than anything else.

 

He let it go though.  He had to. He had to believe that the kiss came from Darren’s inherent showmanship, from his willingness to go all the way and then go just a little further for the sake of putting on a great show.

 

So Chris soldiered on as he had since the first day Darren walked on set.

 

Everything changed when Matt Bomer was cast.


	2. Chapter 2

Chris woke that morning full of nervous excitement – stomach fluttering uncomfortably, legs sliding restlessly against his too-warm sheets, the remnants of an already forgotten dream teasing the edge of his consciousness. He took a slow, deep breath as he came fully awake, letting it fill his lungs and clear his head.

 

He’d set his alarm clock half an hour early, just in case, and he still woke up twenty minutes before that.  Clearly his internal clock was too wired to let him sleep any longer.  Chris rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling for a long moment, at the crack in the paint that he’d meant to get fixed when he’d first moved in and just never found the time for.  He pressed his hands to his belly and willed his stomach to stop rolling.

 

He couldn’t help his excitement.  Today was the first day Matt Bomer was scheduled to be on the Glee set. And Chris was struggling to stay calm about it.

 

Chris was a fan of Matt’s, of course he was.  He’d been watching _White Collar_ since the beginning, since he’d found himself flipping through the channels one night and stumbled across a show starring an unrealistically gorgeous man with piercing blue eyes and perfect hair.  The plot had come second to the actor, not that he would ever, _ever_ say that to Matt’s face.

 

 _Oh god, don’t say it to Matt’s face_ he thought in a sudden burst of panic. He remembered the way he’d word-vomited to Darren that first day how he was _such_ a fan of the Starkids and what a thrill it was to finally meet Darren and how he knew all the lines to _A Very Potter Musical,_ and then he’d actually recited some of the dialogue.

 

Chris groaned and covered his face with his hands; a hot flush of retroactive embarrassment spread down his whole body.

 

 _You should never speak to anyone ever_. _Ever_.

 

Darren had taken it all in stride, of course he had, laughing and shaking his head fondly and scratching his fingers through his hair.

 

“That’s so cool, man,” he’d said, and he’d flushed a little in embarrassment himself. They’d spent that first day talking about the Starkids and their plans for future shows.  Chris could never tell Darren, but if he wasn’t on Glee, if he didn’t have a thousand ideas for books and movies constantly rolling around his brain, he’d move to Chicago and beg to be allowed the honor of joining Team Starkid.  He didn’t even need to act – he just wanted to write.  Not that he thought they’d let him in, but still, it was a nice fantasy. He did kind of have an _in_ now though, with Darren, should he ever find himself with more free time than he was comfortable with.

 

 

Chris groaned again.  It always came back to Darren.  Darren, whom he’d made a fool of himself in front of right from the start, and somehow that had broken the ice quicker than anything else could have.  Chris hoped against hope that it would be that easy with Matt Bomer and that natural.

 

He looked up to Matt - there was no denying it.  He respected Matt, as a talented actor certainly, but perhaps most especially as a gay man.  Here was a person who was living his life exactly how he wanted - with a rising career and a loving partner and three beautiful children.  No explanations to the press, no ridiculous denials. Just a life lived.

 

In the deep watch of the night, when the obligations of the world had been tucked away, and every mask of an actor and public personality had been taken off, Chris could freely admit to himself that he wanted those things too - the family, the ring, and the security of another life willingly linkd with his own. He wanted it.  He wanted it all.

 

It used to be that when he thought of the future – that ever-sharpening future with a husband and kids and a dog that slept at the foot of their bed – it was with a faceless someone.  A placeholder. A bookmark.  Lately though, a face had begun taking shape. A face with warm, laughing eyes that crinkled in the corners and dark hair and –

 

Chris shook himself and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, forcing the image away.  He could not do this. Not today.  Not ever.  He pulled himself out of bed and slapped at his alarm clock, turning it off before it had the chance to blare that god-awful tone in his face when he was already awake.

 

Chris spent longer than usual getting ready that morning.  The days when he had an early call time, he generally just took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, and threw on whatever clothing he found first.  It didn’t much matter how he looked most mornings – he was going to end up in Kurt’s outfits sooner or later.  But this morning, he wanted to show up looking at least semi-professional.

 

He wanted to look casual, yet put together, just in case he ran into Matt before he got into wardrobe and hair and make-up.  Yes, Matt was talented and kind and funny, but he was also a role model to Chris, and Chris was not going to risk a bad first impression. He wanted to look like an adult who knew what he was doing, not just some kid who’d walked into an audition without a hope in the world and walked out with a part scripted just for him.

 

*******

 

The set was already buzzing when he arrived, fifteen minutes early, as always, despite the time he’d wasted in bed, panicking over what he might blurt out to Matt Bomer when he finally met him, and the time he’d wasted standing in front of his closet worrying about what to wear for the whole ten to fifteen minutes he’d be in it before he’d put on Kurt’s outfit for his first scene.

 

They’d had big guest stars before, but it never felt like this.  Britney Spears was quiet and secluded, arriving an hour late and only coming out of her trailer when it was time for her short scenes. Neil Patrick Harris had been a riot, despite how quickly he’d had to film his scenes.  Kristen Chenoweth had been like having an old friend on set, even though they’d never met before.  Chris had had the biggest crush on her _ever_ and had spilled water all down his shirt when she’d first introduced herself to him. 

 

Chris was apparently absolutely hopeless at meeting the people he looked up to and admired.

 

But this - this felt different.  This felt like high school when a new student arrived halfway through the year and the gossip was already buzzing about them before they ever walked in the front doors.

 

Chris was just coming out of hair and make-up when he heard someone call his name. His heart dropped to his stomach and then jumped to his throat when he recognized the voice. He turned slowly, trying to give himself half a second to school his face from blind panic into something resembling a normal person’s facial expression.

 

And _wow_ but Matt was gorgeous in person – even more perfect than he was on screen.  Chris felt his mouth go a little dry at the sight of the tall, lanky man approaching him from across the lot, a huge toothy smile already on his face. Married with children or not, the man was a Disney prince in the flesh and Chris could certainly appreciate each and every one of his many admirable qualities.

 

Matt looked like he hadn’t been to wardrobe yet because he was wearing a loose sweater and jeans that had a frayed hole in the knee, but holy hell, he was perfect. His hair was swept back off his forehead, clearly having just been combed through with his fingers, but was an effortless style that Chris was a little jealous of.  Chris found himself thinking that maybe he wouldn’t mind running his own hands through that hair.

 

 _First on the list of things not to say to him_ , Chris thought, with a touch of hysterics.  He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants in anticipation of shaking Matt’s hand. He could already feel the heat in his cheeks and the flush in his ears – he wasn’t going to offer this man a clammy hand as well.

 

“Chris!” Matt greeted, fairly bouncing on the last few steps up to him. “Hi! I’m Matt.”  
  
Chris froze as Matt completely bypassed the customary, _normal_ handshake that Chris was ready for and flung both arms around him, pulling him into the kind of full-body-experience hug Chris generally only got from his family and cast-mates, or Darren.

 

Matt’s arms were strong around him and Chris couldn’t stop himself from melting into it, just a little.  There was something about being caught up in another man’s arms, utterly platonic or not. He immediately felt safe and protected in the embrace and filed away the knowledge that Matt’s personal physical boundaries were apparently just as non-existent as Darren’s. And if Matt was going to offer amazing hugs right from the get-go, Chris wasn’t going to turn them down.

 

This close, his face almost buried in the crook of Matt’s neck, Chris was suddenly surrounded by the smell of Matt.  He couldn’t help but breathe in, inhaling the scent of him as surreptitiously as possible. It was creepy enough that he was doing it in the first place; he didn’t want to get caught at it. Not in the first two minutes of their professional relationship.  But Matt smelled wonderful – cool and fresh, where Darren was warm and subtly spicy.

 

It was lovely, but it didn’t sing in his veins the way the scent of Darren did. It didn’t send a shiver down his spine and swell his cock the way getting enveloped in the sweat and musk and clean soap of Darren’s skin did.

 

 _Christ stop thinking about that,_ Chris berated himself.

 

Matt finally let him go and took a small step back, but he was still well within Chris’ usual personal space bubble.

 

“So we’re going to be working together for a little bit here!  I’m really excited.  I’m really quite the fan of yours,” Matt said, all white teeth and bright eyes and bouncing on his toes.

 

“What? No.  Oh my god.  I’m a huge fan of _yours_ ,” Chris stuttered, taken aback by the idea of Matt fucking Bomer being a fan of _him_.  “I mean, you’re such an inspiration and a role model, with your life and your family and your everything and oh god I should just stop talking.”

 

Matt just laughed and shook his head.  “No man, look at you.  Everything you’ve accomplished and so young?  You’re impressive.  You are.  I’m really excited about your first movie.  I’ve heard nothing but amazing things.”

 

Chris felt the flush race up to his hairline and he didn’t even care. Matt Bomer knew about his movie. He might as well give up and go home now.

 

“Oh, wow. Thank you.  That’s really – that means a lot to me. Coming from you. I,” Chris took a deep breath, trying to slow his pounding heart.  “I swear I’m not usually this flustered.  I mean, I guess I am.  Around people I like.  You should have heard me when I first met Darren. Now _that_ was embarrassing.”

 

Chris bit his lip to stop from saying anything further.  He _really_ needed to learn to control his tendency to blather like an idiot in front of attractive men.

 

“Well,” Matt began, his eyes damn near sparkling in the brightening morning light. Chris was going to have to get a dictionary out to begin to describe those eyes.  “Let’s just agree that we’re mutually impressed with each other and that clearly, we’re far superior to everyone else on this set, yeah?”

 

Chris laughed, he couldn’t help it, and he felt a little better for it. “Yes, I think that’s an excellent plan.  I mean look at us,” he gestured between their bodies.  “Who could possibly stand a chance between us?”

 

“Speaking of Darren,” said Matt, glancing around the still mostly empty lot. “It looks like I’m going to be the fake brother of your boyfriend.”

 

Chris’ eyes shot open wide and his mouth went bone dry.

 

“I – what? He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends. Close friends. Great friends. The _best_ of friends, but just friends,” Chris stuttered, taking a tiny, impulsive step backwards and holding his hands up in a futile gesture.

 

Matt cocked his head to the side and silently regarded Chris with those eyes the color of the ocean after a tempest.  Chris felt held fast in his gaze, unmovable and rooted to the spot. He flushed under Matt’s sharp-eyed scrutiny, feeling so much like his measure was being taken.  Chris didn’t know what Matt was looking for, but he knew when the older man found it, whatever it was.

 

Suddenly, a smile - just a small one, barely a hint - quirked the corner of Matt’s mouth.  Chris shivered. It seemed like Matt had just figured out something fundamental about him.  And it worried him, because he didn’t know what it was.

 

“I see,” Matt said.  “I just meant that my character is the brother of Darren’s character, who is your character’s boyfriend.”

 

The air punched right out of Chris with a gasp of nervous, relieved laughter. He was such a moron. “Oh god, yes, right. I mean, wow.  I am, yeah.  Yes, you are.  That is your character.”  Chris almost ran a hand through his own hair, but stopped himself just in time. He did not want to ruin the styling he’d just sat through.  Instead, he wrapped his arms nervously around himself.

 

“Come on,” Matt slung an arm around Chris’ shoulders and pulled him close. “Show me where I’m supposed to go. I know there are a ton of PAs around, but I’d much rather have you do it.  I’m sure we have lots to talk about.”

 

Chris just nodded and led Matt towards the hair and make-up trailer. Damn but this was going to be just as difficult as he’d imagined.


	3. Chapter 3

When Chris had heard that Matt Bomer was going to be guest starring in at least one episode, he’d prepared himself (as best he could) for someone older, charming, and suave as all hell.

 

Chris had not expected Matt to be just a complete and utter goofball. Though when he thought about it, he realized he should have seen it coming.  He’d watched the _White Collar_ gag reels enough times to know just how spontaneous and kooky and almost off-his-rocker Matt truly was - devastating good looks notwithstanding.

 

By now Chris was used to the way the boys of Glee were all dorks and nuts and slightly left of normal, and he absolutely loved that about all of them. It didn’t startle him anymore to see someone flying around the set on a scooter or skateboard, generally without a helmet, much to the consternation of the PAs.  It wasn’t _new_ to hear two of the girls discussing the finer points of double-sided tape on a red carpet.  It didn’t shock him to see someone hanging upside down from the set equipment – though in all fairness, it was usually _him_ doing the high-wire act.

 

But it had taken some time for Chris to become as comfortable with his cast mates as he was.  It was especially difficult in the beginning, those first few crazy, wild, whirlwind months, when he felt so much younger than everyone else, and so very different from the rest.

  
He’d been so alone during high school, so independent, and purposefully so, that suddenly being thrust into a world of shared time and space had been a shock to the system.  It had taken time and energy to grow comfortable with the new people around him, with their personality quirks and certain tendencies.

 

The constant touching had been the most difficult change to make in himself. Physical contact hadn’t been an issue in high school, because he hadn’t had to deal with it; it had basically been nonexistent.  Most people had kept their distance from him in the hallways and the classrooms, not to mention the boys’ locker room.  Not because he was gay, but because he’d let himself become something of a social pariah. No one wanted to be caught purposefully _touching_ that weird kid who spent all his time alone and writing.  It was just easier that way – to keep his distance from the others, to not let anyone stifle his personality just to make him fit in with the rest of society better.

 

And then Glee had come along, and there had been no way to maintain his usual, safe distance from the others.  Lea had held his hand for the first fifteen minutes of their acquaintance. Cory had wrapped him up in a hug so tight his back had popped in a few places, and then he’d literally carried Chris across the room to introduce him to Mark, who’d been talking to Amber.

 

The closeness with his cast mates had progressed and deepened, until it became as natural as breathing, until _he_ became the one initiating the contact.  He didn’t even notice anymore.  It didn’t strike him as anything less than normal when Dianna ran her hands through his hair or when he took food off of Ashley’s plate.  It was a bit like having another family, a whole coterie of brothers and sisters, even if it was a family of completely crazy people who were lacking in personal boundaries.

 

Chris was used to that kind of thing from his Glee family. 

 

He knew what to expect from them, and them from him.  Chris knew where each person’s line was drawn.  But Matt Bomer was an unknown quantity. He didn’t know what he could say or how far he could push before he crossed a line with the older man. Even though Matt was only going to be around for an episode (at least this season), Chris didn’t want to make him uncomfortable or burn any bridges, especially considering that they were both going to be appearing in Dustin Black’s “8 the Play” in a month or so. If he made a fool of himself in front of Matt now, Chris would never forgive himself.

 

But after spending half an hour chatting and gossiping with Matt in the empty hair and make up trailer, Chris realized his worries were completely unfounded and unnecessary.

 

Matt was perhaps one of the biggest dorks he’d ever come across, and that was certainly saying something considering the company that Chris currently kept. He was smart and quick and witty and completely at ease with himself.  He was willing to say just about anything for a laugh, which he got Chris to do often.

 

Matt was also quick to touch – reaching out to tap Chris on the knee as he made a point, or pushing gently at his shoulder.  Chris’ breath had caught in his throat the first few times during their conversation, but sooner than he’d thought possible it had become as natural as with any of his other friends.  It felt nice, actually.  To have that level of physical comfort so quickly.

 

Chris felt himself relax around Matt, shoulders loosening and hands finally coming untucked from their nervous, defensive position deep in his pockets.

 

He listened intently as Matt waxed poetic about his partner and his children, his perfect little family.  Chris couldn’t help his own smile when he saw the loving, contented expression that graced Matt’s face the moment Chris asked about his family.  It was almost heartbreaking how happy the mere thought of them made him.

 

“You too, huh?”  Matt suddenly asked, interrupting his own story.

 

“What?”

 

“I lost you there for a second, when I was talking about my kids and their need to color coordinate their Legos.” Matt tilted his head, looking up at Chris from where he was sitting in one of the hair and make up chairs.  His eyes were that same piercing blue, and he was giving Chris that same searching look that he had when they were outside and Chris had started babbling about Darren not being his boyfriend.

 

“You want that too.  The partner. The family.  Everything.”

 

Chris smiled, soft and a little wistful.  “Yeah, I do.  At some point. Not right now of course. How crazy would that be! But in the future? Yeah, that’s what I want.” Chris exhaled a little shakily, heart beating a little faster than it had been.  He’d never said that before to someone.  It felt good to get it out.  It helped that Matt was smiling so encouragingly at him.

 

Matt continued to appraise him with those unnerving eyes.  “And is there anyone you see yourself sharing that with?”  
  
Chris bit his lip and looked away from Matt, from those keen and too-knowing eyes, and down to where he was scuffing the floor with the toe of his shoe. “I…maybe.  Kind of.  I mean, there’s this--”

 

He was cut off when the door to the trailer swung open.

 

Chris was still leaning back against the counter in front of Matt, arms folded across his chest, when Darren came through the door of the trailer.  Chris’ stomach clenched, like it always did, at the sight of him.  He swallowed down what he’d been about to say to Matt.

 

“Chris, hey, there you are!”  Darren waved and grinned happily at him.

 

Darren was in his own sweatpants and Michigan t-shirt.  Chris tried, and failed, not to stare at the way the worn, faded fabric clung to the lean planes of his chest.  Darren’s curls were loose and slightly frizzy, flatter on one side than the other from where his head had rested on his pillow all night. And he was wearing his glasses. Chris clenched his jaw, just a little.

 

“Morning,” he said.

 

“Oh man, did you hear?  Today is Matt Bomer’s first day on set.  I’m so stoked to finally meet him!  He seems so awesome.”

 

Chris felt a gentle nudge at his foot, and looked down to see Matt grinning conspiratorially at him.  The older man shook his head minutely, just the barest twitch, and flicked his eyes to the side in Darren’s general direction.

 

 _Don’t say anything_ was clear in his brilliant, humored eyes.  Chris didn’t bother to nod, not wanting to risk giving anything away.  If this is what it was going to be like with Matt around, he liked it.

 

“Yeah I heard. I think it’s gonna be a great episode.  I can’t wait to get this started.”

 

“Do I look ok?” Darren asked, running his hands down his shirt.  “I mean, I kind of just rolled out of bed. What if I run into him? Am I gonna look like some weird kid who doesn’t know how to dress himself?”

 

Suddenly, Matt spun around in his chair.  Chris almost laughed – damn but the man had a flair for theatrics that he could appreciate.  Chris certainly had to admire that about him.

 

“Hey bro,” Matt said, voice obnoxiously bright.  “What’s up?”

 

Darren eyes widened comically and a huge, excited grin broke out across his face. His smile was so big his eyes almost disappeared.  Chris had to laugh then.

 

“Matt!” Darren exclaimed.

 

Matt rose from the chair as Darren rushed towards him.  There was no hesitation, no sense of personal or societal propriety as Darren fairly flung himself into Matt’s arms, accepting the huge hug and giving one right back.  If there had been room for it, Chris imagined that Matt would have swung Darren around.

 

Chris swallowed back the sudden taste of jealousy that rose in his mouth.

 

 _Stop being ridiculous_ , he told himself. _It’s just a hug. You got one too._

 

“Oh man, it’s just such an honor and a thrill and a privilege to finally meet you,” Darren gushed when they finally let go of each other, though he left one hand firm on Matt’s forearm.  “I can’t wait to work with you on this!  I heard the tracks the other day and they just sound so incredible. It’s a shame we couldn’t record them in the booth together, you know?  But I just know this is going to be an amazing experience.”

 

“Likewise,” Matt reached out with the arm that Darren wasn’t still clutching and gave his shoulder a squeeze.  They were both such easily physical people.  “Though I have to be honest, I feel like I already know so much about you.  Chris here has been talking you up like nobody’s business.”

 

Chris flushed a deep, violent red and, when both of them turned their gazes to him, he wished fervently that a hole would just open up beneath him and swallow him whole. It couldn’t be true – surely he’d talked about something other than Darren? He’d mentioned him, of course he had.  How could he not? But they’d talked about other things before Chris had admitted to his future desires, hadn’t they?

 

Matt looked infuriatingly pleased with himself for his little comment, and Chris was quickly coming to terms with the fact that he was going to be a lot to handle. Darren too looked pleased, though a little confused as well, like he’d missed the set-up to a joke.

 

“Chris is too kind,” Darren said, and his eyes softened as Chris smiled gratefully at him.  Matt did not miss the way Darren’s expression changed at the sight of Chris’ grin. “I’m sure he’s telling you all sorts of lies about me.”  
  
“I would never,” Chris protested, fluttering his eyelashes a little, for show, and lifting a hand to his chest.  “I only tell the sincerest of truths.”  He surprised himself when he sent a wink in Matt’s direction.  He hadn’t meant to do it, not really, but it had felt like the right thing to do. Given Matt’s raised eyebrows, it had been.

 

“Oh sure, like when you told Ryan Murphy that I was desperate to get slushied because I felt like I wasn’t truly part of the team without it having happened to me?”

 

Matt laughed as Chris shrugged his shoulders with feigned nonchalance. “Oh, so that was _your_ fault?”

 

Chris gave them both his best _who me?_ face.

 

“He’s a terrible, terrible person,” Darren said, and his eyes were sparkling with mischief and merriment.  “You better watch out for this one.”

 

“Oh I don’t know,” Matt leaned in and nudged Darren’s shoulder with his own. “We were having a pretty good time in here before you showed up.”

 

Matt did not miss the quick flash of emotion that flitted across Darren’s features, and the subtle way his posture changed – shoulders tensing, body twitching just a fraction away from Matt’s.

 

“What is this?” Chris asked, suddenly uncomfortable and not really knowing why. “Are the two of you going to gang up on me now?”

 

“Well now _that’s_ a thought, isn’t it?”

 

Chris snorted at Matt’s attempt to leer at him.

 

Darren cleared his throat then.  “What are you doing in here anyway?  We’ve got dance rehearsal today.”  He gestured at his own extremely casual clothing.  “No need to get gussied up for that.”

 

“Chris was showing me around the place, kind and wonderful person that he is, and we got to chatting and here we remain.  I’m not running late, am I?  I’d hate to make a terrible first impression.”

 

“Oh you’ve made _quite_ the impression,” Chris said, feeling bold and daring.

 

Matt laughed, and then he caught the look on Darren’s face.  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the both of them.

 

“Come on,” he said, squeezing Darren’s shoulder.  “Take me to this dance rehearsal.  I don’t want to be late and I’m sure Chris here can’t wait to get rid of the both of us.”

 

Chris made a shooing gesture at them.  “Yes, go.  I’ve got very important things to take care of.”

 

“All right, all right.  We’re going. Catch you at lunch, yeah?” Darren asked as he and Matt started to head for the door, eyes huge and hopeful – searching Chris’ face.

 

Chris nodded.  “Of course.”

 

Darren cast one last look back at Chris as he and Matt descended the steps of the trailer.

 

Chris slumped when the door finally shut behind them, back curving under some strange weight that was suddenly pushing down on him.  The air around him felt heavy and thick, loaded with a meaning he didn’t yet understand.  He ran his hands across his face and through his hair, unsure why he was feeling rocked and off-kilter the way he was.

 

It had to be the one-two punch of being in the presence of both Darren and Matt, of having both of their attentions suddenly focused on him.

 

Matt was one thing.  Chris wanted to impress Matt, certainly, to keep up with his quick-witted banter, to learn from him as an actor and a man.  He wanted to make the older man glad he’d agreed to come on the show.  But Darren –

 

 

Chris had seen the strange looks that crossed Darren’s face when Matt had teased him about the slushie and about having a good time with Chris before Darren had barged into the trailer.  Chris had seen the change in Darren’s body language, from open and welcoming to defensive, when Matt had flirted with him.

 

 _Oh god we were flirting_.

 

It hit him like a punch to the gut.  He had been flirting with Matt and he hadn’t even really realized it. It was a harmless sort of flirtation, Chris knew; Matt was about as off-the-market as a man could get. But he’d been doing it in front of Darren.  Darren who he –

 

Chris stopped himself with a shake of his head.  He wasn’t going to change his behavior for Darren. He liked Matt. They seemed to be getting along better than he could have expected.  And Matt was certainly flirting back with him – making those sly little comments. It was silly and it was fun and Chris wasn’t going to alter the way he interacted with Matt for someone else.

 

Chris pushed himself off the counter and headed for the exit of the trailer. It was still early and damn but he needed coffee or Diet Coke or a goddamn vodka tonic if he was going to make it through this day in one piece.

 

As he headed for craft services, Chris wondered why Darren had bothered asking him about lunch that afternoon.  Didn’t they always have lunch together?  When their shooting schedules permitted, of course.  Sure, there were times when Darren was off filming something when Chris had time for lunch, but not always.

 

Though when he thought about it, Chris realized that maybe they hadn’t been having lunch together as often as they used to.  And when he really thought about why that might be, he knew the reasons.


	4. Chapter 4

Chris was nervous.

 

It was ridiculous.  He was being utterly and completely ridiculous.  It was just lunch.  He’d had lunch almost every day for his entire life.  Lunch was easy; food was easy.  Natural.  Everyone needed food.  Why should this one particular lunch be any different?

 

 _It’s not any different. It’s not_.

 

So why were his palms sweating?  Why was his mouth so painfully dry?  Why was his heart beating just a bit too fast?  His stomach was clenching and unclenching uncomfortably, the way it did when he first slid into a hot bath, or the way it did on those too-rare nights he found himself in some out-of-the-way club, dancing with his eyes closed with some boy or man he didn’t know.  When he let some nameless someone buy him a drink and then run his hands, sure and confident, across his stomach and down his legs, the muscles fluttering under the touch.

 

It was stupid, he knew, to go out to clubs and drink and dance until the sweat shone on his skin and every worry and obligation and duty in his life (and there were a great many of them) faded into oblivion.   He wasn’t some anonymous teenager anymore – not that he went out often as a teenager at all. But he was, and was loathe to even _think_ the word about himself, however true it was, a celebrity.  Or becoming one.

 

His actions had consequences now.  He had more people than he’d ever thought possible looking up to him, respecting him, _expecting_ things of him.  He wasn’t going to let anyone down over something like that. He was not going to be one of those idiots caught by the paparazzi drunk and stumbling out of a nightclub at 3:00am, or the fool who got sold out to a tabloid by a one-night stand he regretted the moment it was over.

 

So he spent most of his nights at home, with his laptop and his fish, working away on his projects.  He wasn’t celibate, of course he wasn’t.  He had – _friends_ (and damn if that word didn’t leave a strange taste in his mouth and a funny ache in his chest.) But in the end, when they’d cleaned up and said their goodbyes and _until next times_ , it wasn’t what he wanted.

 

Not at all.

 

*******

 

Matt and Darren were already seated across from one another at one of the tables with some of the other cast members when Chris finally arrived with his own tray of food. He’d been stalling - loitering around the edges of craft services, ignoring the strange looks from passing crew members he got as he wiped his damp palms off on his jeans, and took deep breaths to try and calm himself.

 

_It’s just fucking lunch you, moron. Pull your shit together. What is wrong with you?_

 

Chris manned up, squared his shoulders, and marched over to the lunch area, determined to put _something_ in his rolling stomach. He grabbed some items from the assortment, laughing to himself when he saw just how much food Cory piled onto his own tray before walking off to go sit with Lea, with a quick _hey man_ thrown at Chris as he passed by. Chris couldn’t stop the wistful smile that quirked his mouth when he realized that Cory had gotten lunch for himself and for Lea.

 

When Lea looked up at Cory with a soft, secret smile as he handed her a plate, Chris turned away, clutching his own tray a little too tightly.

 

Darren’s back was to him as he approached their table, and so Matt saw him first. His unfairly beautiful face brightened in a huge smile that Chris couldn’t help but return.

 

“Chris!” he called out, waving at him, almost knocking over a drink in his enthusiasm. “Come on, we’ve been waiting for you!”

 

Darren turned, looking back over his shoulder, when Matt called out Chris’ name and Chris bit his lip at the tentative smile Darren sent him.

 

There was space enough for a slim body between Darren and Chord, who was turned the other way, bent over a phone with Harry.  The two of them seemed lost deep in conversation, though knowing them both as well as he did, Chris could only imagine what nonsense they were looking at on that phone.  He was sure later this afternoon he’d see some vague, ridiculous tweet, or slew of grainy new Instagram photos.

 

Chris started to move to slide into the space next to Darren, but Matt suddenly shifted over a few inches on the bench.

 

“Come sit by me,” Matt said, patting the bench next him, wiggling over another inch or so. “I promise I don’t smell bad, despite all that dancing.”

 

Chris smiled, shaking his head a little as Matt lifted his arm and sniffed dramatically at his underarm.

 

“Nope, I’m good.  It’s safe to sit next to me.”

 

How could he refuse that?  Chris moved around to the other side of the table, and missed the way Darren’s face fell and his shoulders slumped.  He missed the way Darren shifted back towards Chord, filling the space he’d created for Chris.

 

“What took you so long?  We’re two grown men here, with grown men appetites.  We’re starving.”  Matt asked as Chris set his tray down on the.  He didn’t know why they were seated at this uncomfortable picnic bench and not at one of the tables with actual chairs.

 

“There was a line at the pasta bar,” Chris lied smoothly, or at least he thought it was smooth.  Matt eyed Chris’ food tray, with its packaged salad, soup, and roll that wasn’t quite stale but was on its way there.  Nothing else had looked appetizing, and Chris hadn’t wanted to waste perfectly good food he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to eat.  The salad would at least keep in the mini fridge in his trailer until he inevitably got hungry hours later.

 

“A line, huh?”

 

Chris looked down at his tray and flushed.  Goddamnit, but he was becoming a terrible liar, at least around Matt.  “Well, I got tired of waiting.  Besides, this is much better for maintaining my figure.”  There, banter was good.  Banter was easy.

 

Matt eyed him up and down with a skeptical look.  “Yes, because your figure is something you clearly need to worry about.”

 

Chris sniffed a little, popping open the tab of his soda.  “Not all of us are naturally Greek gods in human form.”

 

“That is a shame,” Matt answered with a staged sigh, tossing his hair a little as he ran his fingers through it.

 

“You’re incorrigible,” Chris said, fumbling a little as he tried to open up the boxed salad.  Even if he wasn’t hungry, he might as well make a show of eating.

 

“That’s what Simon keeps telling me.  Let’s be honest though - I think it’s what he likes best about me. Or least that’s what I keep telling myself.”

 

At the mention of Matt’s partner’s name, Chris looked up and found Darren gazing intently at him.  Darren startled a little when Chris’ eyes met his own, and he quickly looked down at his own tray. Chris had no idea what to make of that.  He felt on edge; it felt like his skin was too tight – stretched thin over his bones.

 

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat.  “How’d your dance rehearsal go?”

 

“Grueling! I don’t know how you guys do this day after day, week after week.  I’m supposed to learn that whole number in a day?” Matt shook his head in disbelief, laughing.  “That Zach is a monster. Something is seriously wrong with that guy.  Hey, are you going to eat that?”  Matt gestured at the roll still sitting untouched on Chris’ tray, and Chris closed his hand protectively over it.

 

“We don’t know each other well enough for that.  Not yet.  And besides,” Chris looked over at Matt’s tray and then across the table at Darren’s – both of them were piled high with food.  “You both look like you’ve enough food to feed half the crew.”

 

He knew that feeling – five hours of dancing and sweating his ass off, running Zach’s choreography over and over again until he dreamt the steps at night – left a person famished.

 

“You got it down though, right?” Chris asked.

 

“But of course.  Who do you think you’re talking to?  I’m a professional.” Matt sent him a wink as he shoveled food purposefully obnoxiously into his mouth.  “Your Darren here though, damn this kid is good.”

 

Chris looked across the table at Darren, who suddenly flushed a furious red and scraped his fork at his food.

 

“I’ve had some practice at this now,” Darren said, shrugging his shoulders dismissively. “I was such a mess the first few numbers.  You can ask Chris. He bore witness to my shame.”

 

“That true?” Matt asked with a raised eyebrow.  His eyes were bright and sparkling in the afternoon sun, too knowing for their own good.  Chris was coming to hate the way Matt seemed to know more about him than he knew about himself.

 

“Darren was fantastic from day one,” Chris said, smiling softly at Darren. “And he knows it.”

 

Darren swallowed and Chris tried not to watch the way his throat worked. “You did great,” Darren told Matt. “You really did. We’re lucky to have you here.”

 

“I got by,” Matt protested.  “You’re a natural at this.”  He reached across the table and tapped Darren’s tray with his fork.  “You really are.  You should be proud, man.”

 

Darren offered him an embarrassed, but pleased little grin.

 

Matt suddenly knocked Chris with his shoulder.  Chris spluttered as he was caught off guard and the soda that he’d been about to drink dribbled down his lip.

 

“Aren’t you proud of him?”

 

 _Damn you_ Chris thought, resisting – just barely – the urge to glare at Matt.

 

“Yes,” Chris said, and his voice felt raw to his own ears.  He looked over at Darren through his eyelashes. Darren’s cheeks were still pink, and his eyes were dark and searching.  “Yes, I’m very proud of him.”

 

Even from across the table Chris saw the way Darren’s pupils blew wide. He could see the hitch in his chest as his breath caught in his throat.

 

Suddenly Darren swung his legs around and got up from the table, walking away from them with quick steps.

 

“So,” Matt said, swiping the roll that Chris had forgotten to guard.  “That didn’t go well.”

 

Chris followed Darren’s retreating figure until he disappeared around a corner and was gone from sight.  He suddenly felt cold under the spring sunshine.  Across the table, Chord and Harry sent him confused, concerned glances before returning to whatever it was they were doing with that damn phone. Chris knew they’d heard everything that had just happened, whatever that _was_ , though he trusted them both not to gossip about this with anyone else. They were family after all.

 

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Chris said, running his hands through his hair, not caring that he was messing up the hair stylist’s hard work.  
  
“Yes, you do.”  The look Matt gave him was infuriating; that too-wise, too-knowing look that Chris was quickly becoming familiar with.  This man was probably terrible to argue with.  He probably just laid out perfectly constructed arguments that carefully displayed his reasons, and then looked at his partner with those stupidly bright eyes until the matter was put to rest.  Or if he was in the wrong, he acknowledged his own mistakes and looked for ways to compromise.

 

 _Damn the man_.

 

“I don’t,” Chris said stubbornly.

 

“Go after him.”

 

“What?” Chris felt his heart stutter a beat.

 

“Are you going to make me repeat everything?  Go. After. Him.”  Matt made a waving hand gesture in the direction Darren had gone, his steps so quick he was almost running.

 

_Away from me._

 

“I--”

 

“If you say you can’t I’m going to beat you senseless with your own idiocy. And then make you babysit my children.  For an entire weekend. And I’ll get them loaded on brownies and Disney movies, and deprive them of naptime before I hand them off to you.” Matt winked at him again. “And I’ll hide their favorite toys. You won’t last two hours before you’re crying for your mother.”

 

Chris sighed and dropped his head onto his hands.

 

“Go. Go on.”  Matt pushed insistently at Chris’ shoulder until he got up from the table.  “Go after him like a big boy.”

 

At first Chris didn’t think he knew where Darren would go, but on a set like Glee’s, there was really only one place to go when you wanted some privacy.

 

***

 

The door to Darren’s trailer was closed, but unlocked.  Chris knocked anyway.  It didn’t feel right to barge in, not that day.

 

Darren looked wary and embarrassed.  “Hey, I – sorry about that, I just,” he stopped and rubbed at his forehead, stepping back so Chris could fully enter the trailer.  The hair at his temple was damp, as if he’d splashed water on his face before Chris had shown up.

 

“No, I’m sorry.”

 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”  Darren put his hands on his hips, and then folded them across his chest. “I don’t know why I took off like that.  That was stupid of me. Sometimes I just react to things. I don’t always think or I think too much and it’s just – you’re just,” Darren stopped and looked away. He didn’t seem to be able to hold Chris’ eyes for any length of time.

 

“I’m just what?” Chris asked, and he could feel his heart rate start to climb. The air in the trailer felt close and heavy.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Darren--”

 

“It’s stupid and ridiculous.”

“Tell me.”

 

“You’re a flirt, ok?”  Darren rubbed his face. “You’re a flirt and I don’t know what to do about it.”

 

Chris sucked in a breath. Whatever he’d expected Darren to call him, whatever he’d imagined that Darren would say to him, that certainly wasn’t it. It was, he thought with a touch of hysterics, better than any number of things Darren could have said in that moment.

 

“Darren, I--”

 

“And you don’t, with me.”

 

“What?” Chris thought that by now, after a year and a half, a tour, more movie nights than he could count, and a PG-rated sex scene, he would have been able to translate Darren-speak with a little more ease.  He couldn’t.

 

“Flirt. With me.  You don’t.”  Darren plucked restlessly at the bottom hem of his shirt. He was blushing again, but with embarrassment – Chris could feel the nervous, almost frightened energy coming off of him in waves.

 

Chris didn’t know how to respond to that.  He swallowed against his suddenly dry throat and licked his lips. “I - do you want me to?”

 

Darren sighed.  “I just want you to be you, with me.”

 

“I am me with you.  I’m only ever me.”

 

“No, you’re not.  You, you sit on Chord’s lap and you let Cory steal your food and Mark is constantly all over you. Lea doesn’t let go of your hand for hours at a time and Dianna always has her hands in your hair. You and Ashley look like you’re dating most of the time.”  Darren ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up.

 

“And Matt – Matt just shows up and he’s, he’s great.  He is.  He’s beyond incredible.  I get that.  He’s fucking perfect, why wouldn’t you like him?”

 

 _What are you even talking about?_   Chris thought helplessly.

 

“Darren.” Chris struggled for words, searching for them and finding none at all.  Nothing but Darren’s name, over and over, beating in time with his heart.

 

“And then there’s me.  You don’t ignore me, but you’re not like _that_ with me.  I mean, we hardly sit together at lunch anymore, when I can even _get_ you to have lunch with me.  I didn’t used to have to fucking schedule lunch with you. And then today – you had to go sit next to fucking _Matt_ and I’d wanted -” Darren cut himself off with a sharp gasp.  “You haven’t been over to my place in weeks.  I miss our movie nights, when you’d fall asleep on my couch and panic in the morning because you weren’t sure where you were.” A soft, fond smile twitched the corner of Darren’s mouth as he remembered.

 

“Darren, come on.”

 

“You won’t take photos with me at events.”  The brief smile slipped from his face.  “You walk the other way when I approach you at events and shit. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’re always in the bathroom, or getting another drink, or you’ve stepped outside or fucking _something_.  I’m starting to look like a desperate stalker, trying to find you at those fucking things.  And the _looks_ Ashley gives me are grating on my last fucking nerve.”

 

Darren took a deep breath and seemed to be trying to calm himself.  Then he folded his arms across his chest again and looked Chris straight in the eye, unflinching, for what felt like the first time in ages.  Chris shivered under the scrutiny.

 

“So either you’re not you with me, or you’re not you with them.  Which is it?”

 

“I,” Chris couldn’t get enough spit in his mouth to speak.  It felt like his tongue was coated in sand.

 

“Well?”

 

“Ok,” he breathed out, and didn’t know what he was agreeing to. The conversation felt surreal, like a dream he didn’t know he was having until he woke from it, breathing heavily into his pillow as the last tendrils of the dream slipped from his grasp.

 

“I’ll, ok.”

 

Darren rolled his eyes and his shoulders slumped.  Chris was getting tired of putting that defeated expression on Darren’s face.

 

_You’re already ruining everything._

 

“Yes that clears things up just nicely,” the bite in Darren’s voice, the hurt and the resignation, stung.

 

Chris swallowed. “I’ll be me, with you.” He bit his lip, searching for a better set of words to make Darren understand, to make himself understand. He couldn’t find them anywhere.

 

“I’ll try and be me with you.”

 

Darren’s eyes closed briefly and a relieved sigh seemed to drag itself from his very toes.  Darren stepped right up to Chris and threw his arms around him, pulling him close into his body. Chris almost gasped at the suddenness of it, at the shock of Darren’s strong arms tight around his shoulders. He could feel his body freeze, muscles locking as they always did when Darren got this close so unexpectedly.

 

He wanted to resist, to pull back and finish this conversation that felt incomplete. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t have pulled himself away if someone from Entertainment Weekly barged right into the trailer with a microphone and a camera.

 

The warmth of Darren, the strength and masculinity of him, called to the very depths of Chris’ being.  So he let it happen.  He let the heat of Darren’s body, pressed all along the length of him, seep through his clothing and his skin and settle deep into his bones.

 

He felt Darren turn his face into his neck, felt dry lips brush against his skin, and he couldn’t contain the shiver that ran through him.  It was accidental, he was sure, but it was a reminder of what he wanted, and what he couldn’t have.

 

 _This is not the distance you were trying to maintain_ he chastised himself, even as tightened his own hold on Darren, shifting his stance so Darren’s hips stopped pressing awkwardly against his and instead slotted easily, comfortably against his own.  The abrupt intimacy of it – chest to chest, groin to groin – took Chris’ breath away.

 

 _Too close_ he thought. _Not close enough._

 

Chris tipped his own face down and pressed his nose to Darren’s curls.  He let himself breathe in deep of the scent of him – his shampoo, his sweat, the lingering tang of his cologne, the warm spice of Darren himself.  He let himself have it, even if it didn’t mean the same thing to Darren as it did to him.

 

 _Not close enough at all_.


	5. Chapter 5

Hands. There were hands everywhere. Trailing up his sides, down his legs, through his hair.  Everywhere, all over him all at once.  He sighed and melted down into it, settling into the bed underneath him, the soft sheets, letting the sweet pleasure of _touch_ course through him.  It had been so long, so very long since hands and mouths and tongues and spit and sweat. He was aching for it, dying for it.

 

_Finally._

 

It was dark, or his eyes were closed, he didn’t know.  But he couldn’t see – he could only feel.  He could feel the hands that clutched at him, pulling him close, pushing and curving his body, strong and hot against his flesh. He could feel those hands perfectly, wide and broad and rough and perfect.  He could feel every drag of skin against skin, the slick slide of sweat gathering in the dips and folds of his body.

 

Fingers plucked at his nipples with just the right amount of pressure to pull a strained gasp from his dry throat.  Nails scratched lightly down his chest, sending shivers all through him. His toes curled with it. He groaned, arching into the touch that was all at once familiar and achingly new.  A throbbing heat was building low in his belly and his muscles clenched against it, wanting to let go and unable to. Not yet. His skin felt hot and tight, like it couldn’t possibly hold him together any longer.

 

 _Not yet_.

 

A hand swept lower, across his trembling stomach, just missing where his cock curved hard and heavy and flushed against his abdomen.  A pinky dipped into his bellybutton and he moaned at the subtle imitation of what he wanted, what he wanted to do. He reached out and found strong, broad shoulders; felt another’s skin hot and damp beneath his palms. He gripped tightly, nails digging into tense muscles.

 

 _Please_ he groaned into the darkness. _Please you have to._

 

And then, fingers scratched through the hair around the base of his cock before taking him in a firm grip and he cried out, back bowing at the pleasure of it. It seemed like forever and a day since he’d had this.  He clutched tighter at the shoulders, feeling the muscles flex under his palms as the hand slid down his length, so achingly slow and careful, and then back up his cock, twisting over the head.

 

_Too slow too slow too slow please you have to_

 

He dug his heels into the bed and thrust up, trying to get more, faster, anything. He thought he heard soft laughter over the roaring of his blood and the pounding of his heart. He licked at his dry lips, tasted his own sweat on his upper lip, and tried to ask for more, tried to beg, but he couldn’t.  He couldn’t get the words out.  Instead he moaned, high and wanton and pleading, begging without words.

 

A sure hand, so very hot on his inner thigh, coaxed his legs apart and then slid up. He threw his head back, exposing his throat, at the insistent pressure – not inside, not quite. But so close.  Confident fingers teased at the very heart of him, touching, stroking, but never breaching.  His hips rocked up, aching for it, something, _anything_ more than this.  

 

 _Please_.

 

He couldn’t breathe – too hot, too close, too much, not enough.  He arched again, legs drawing up, spreading wide. He could feel a body settling close between his thighs.  He ran his own hands through his hair – sweat damp and sticking to his forehead – tugging almost too roughly.  Pinpricks of pleasure burst across his scalp and shivered down his spine. He thought he could taste his own need on his tongue.  He felt open and loose; he didn’t know why he wasn’t just being taken already – hard and hot and fast and _now_.

 

 _Just take me.  Yours, I’m yours_.

 

Suddenly, hands on his hips lifted and turned him, pulling him up and over until he was on his hands and knees and there was someone underneath him.  Someone was arching and twisting and reaching for him. He lowered himself, hips dragging hot and hard against the body below him.  There was a groan – from him or the other man he didn’t know.  It didn’t matter. He bent low, back curving sharply, and buried his nose in a throat, inhaling deeply the scent of sweat and lust and heat and _man_. He felt legs, strong and powerful, hook around the backs of his thighs, holding him tight and keeping him close. He thrust forward sharply, felt another cock slide hot and slick against his.

 

 _Yours_ the other person moaned, voice deep and wanting and broken in the darkness.

 

Chris woke with a gasp, his hips thrusting erratically against the mattress beneath him. It was hot, too hot. Sweat dripped down his neck and gathered at the small of his back.  He kicked the sheets to the floor, struggling against the tangle of them around his hips and legs, unable to bear the touch of them any longer.

 

He reached down and slid his trembling hand under the waistband of his almost sweat-soaked pajamas, grasping desperately at his cock.  He groaned at the feel of his own palm – too much and not enough.  He was already so wet, precome leaking from the head and sliding down the shaft. He didn’t even need to lick his palm to ease the way.

 

It didn’t take much, just a few shaky, uneven strokes, no finesse, no skill. Just need and heat and touch and friction and then he was coming into his fist, spilling over his knuckles, almost sobbing in relief.

 

Chris lay panting for a long minute, face pressed to the mattress, hand curled loosely around his slowly softening cock.  He felt loose-limbed and shaking with the aftershocks, hips still twitching ever so slightly, and he shivered as the sweat began to cool across his flushed skin.

 

He groaned and rolled himself over onto his back.  He brushed his clean hand across his forehead, wiping away the sheen of sweat.  His sheets were damp with come and perspiration, sticking grossly to his back.  He didn’t know what time it was, but he needed a shower.  And coffee. He needed to forget about the dream that had helped give him the best orgasm he’d had in months before he got to work that morning and saw the person he was fairly certain he’d dreamt about.

 

The alarm clock blared.

 

***

 

“Hey you.”

 

Darren startled and his head snapped up at the sound of Chris’ voice.  The script he’d been flipping through dropped to the ground between his feet.

 

“Hey!” Darren called back. He lifted his hand and sketched a slightly confused little wave at Chris, squinting into the too-bright morning sun.  His eyes were brilliant and so close to green; the pupils contracted tightly against the light, making his eyes all the brighter.  The sunlight glinted off the subtle highlights in his unstyled hair. Chris’ fingers twitched to run through that hair, to grip and tug and pull – to know if Darren liked it at all. His grip tightened unconsciously on the items in his hands.

 

He’d found Darren sitting on the steps to his trailer, leaning his elbows on his knees, the script held loosely in his hands as he studied it. Chris had stopped a little ways away before announcing his presence, content to take a moment to just _look_ at Darren while he was unaware of his scrutiny.  He was wearing another Michigan t-shirt, though this one was grey, and a pair of jeans that looked like they had seen better days.  He seemed to be soaking up the sun – his face was tilted up ever so slightly as he read, to catch the early morning heat.

 

Chris wondered how tanned Darren would get during a long summer without the obligations of another Glee tour.  He imagined Darren to be one of those boys who spent as much time outside and shirtless as possible, as soon as it was warm enough, basking in the heat and the light of the sun.  He wondered how Darren’s browning skin would contrast with the paler parts of him that remained covered by his clothing, _if_ there were parts of him that weren’t exposed to sunlight.  If he thought about it even at all, he could picture Darren skinny-dipping too easily for his own good.  He didn’t know what was worse – an all-over tanned Darren, browned from head to toe, or one with tan lines that begged to have a tongue run across them.

He suddenly had a flash of his dream – of sweat and salt and sex – and swallowed down the aching flash of arousal.

  
“I’ve been looking for you,” Chris said, shaking himself out of his reverie.  He let a bit of coyness slip under his voice.  He even twisted on the spot, swinging his hips a little as he shifted his weight. If Darren had been _jealous_ of Chris flirting with the rest of the cast, then he was going to get what was coming to him.  It must have worked, because a touch of pink colored Darren’s cheeks.

 

A surprised, but happy smile lit up Darren’s face, scrunching up his forehead and crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

 

“You have?” He asked as he reached down, groping for the script he’d dropped.  When he finally snagged, it he set the sheaf of papers on the step next to him.

 

“Yep.”

 

“Dare I ask why?”

 

“I brought you coffee.”  Chris thrust the cup he held in one hand towards Darren, a pleased grin on his own face. “Ta-da.  Coffee.”

 

“Aww. Thanks, man.”  Darren took the cup from Chris, who shivered from his shoulders down to his toes when Darren’s fingers rubbed along his own.

 

 _What a cliché_ he thought, but not unhappily.

 

“But wait! There’s more!”

 

“Did you bring me a pony too?  Because I don’t really have the space for one right now.”

 

“Even better. I brought you breakfast!” Chris brought his other arm that he’d been hiding behind his back out in front of him to reveal the brown paper bag clutched in his hand.

 

“It’s a breakfast sandwich,” he announced, not even attempting to hide the pride and pleasure in his tone.  “It’s from that little hole-in-the-wall place you like.”

 

*******

 

Chris had been so nervous walking into the tiny, unassuming café.  It felt like he was crossing some boundary, like he was invading Darren’s territory.  The young woman behind the counter hadn’t even raised an eyebrow in recognition at him when he’d approached her and Chris had realized that the food wasn’t the only reason Darren loved that place so much.  Although the food _was_ phenomenal.

 

“It’s your favorite,” Chris said.  “I, uh, asked the girl what you always got.  I mean, I was pretty sure I knew, but I, uh, wanted to be absolutely certain.  I mean, what kind of shitty surprise would that have been otherwise?  She seemed – amused, by me.  I think I was stuttering a little.” Chris felt the blush creeping up his cheeks and forced himself to stop talking.

  
Darren just laughed before taking a long sip of the coffee. His eyes closed briefly as the taste of it washed over his tongue.  At least Chris was certain of his coffee order without asking a disinterested barista for help.

 

“Not that I’m complaining, because damn do they make good breakfast sandwiches, but what’s with the special delivery?”

 

“What?” Chris cocked his hip.  “Can’t a friend bring another friend something to eat?”  Chris shook the bag at Darren, trying to get him to take it from him. He felt incredibly awkward, standing there, offering Darren something that he wasn’t taking.

 

Darren tilted his head and looked up at Chris with those huge, contemplative eyes, through those stupidly long eyelashes.  But he didn’t reach for the offered bag.  “Well sure, but that’s not what this is, is it?”

 

 _Damn you_ Chris thought.  _You always know_.

 

“It’s – it’s an apology,” Chris admitted and he dropped his arm.

  
  
“For what?”

 

“For the other day.  For the last couple of months.  You were right. I wasn’t being me, not completely. And that was stupid of me. Pointless, really. I want to be myself with you. We’re, we’re friends.”

 

“Best friends,” Darren interjected with a quirk of a smile.

 

Chris rolled his eyes, but his heart stuttered a brief double-time.  “ _Best_ friends.  And I was being an absolute moron.  And this is me apologizing to you for being a moron.  I wasn’t being fair to you and I’m sorry.”

 

Darren pressed his lips together briefly before nodding his head.  “Then I accept your completely unnecessary but lovely apology.”

 

Chris let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

  
“I knew the best way to buy your love was food,” he said, more relieved than he cared to admit.

 

“Well then gimme.”  Darren reached out and Chris gladly gave him the bag, feeling tension leave his back and shoulders as the bag left his hands.

 

“You should have breakfast with me, as long as you’re here,” Darren said as he dug into the bag.

 

“Oh, I--”

 

Darren pulled the single sandwich out.  He could smell the egg and cheese and bacon already.  “You didn’t get anything for yourself?”

 

Chris bit his lip.  He didn’t want to say that he’d been too nervous that morning, too worried about this conversation, to find anything appetizing; or that his dream – too vivid, too real – had left him shivering and stumbling with every remembrance of it. Though now that the conversation had happened, the apology had been accepted, and the dream was just beginning to fade into the bright light of day, he felt his stomach rumbling a little with hunger.

 

“I guess I forgot?”  Even as he said it, the excuse sounded lame and pathetic. It was obvious, with the way he pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes, that Darren didn’t believe it at all.

 

“You always eat first thing in the morning. It’s like your sole reason to wake up at all.”

 

“Things happen. I’m telling you – that girl at your café scared me.  Scared the hunger right out of me.”

 

“Here,” Darren took the sandwich in both hands and carefully ripped it in half. He offered one of the halves to Chris, who stared at it, unblinking.

 

“But it’s for you,” he protested.  “I got it for you.”

 

“And I’m sharing.  Sharing is caring. Take it.”

 

Chris took the sandwich in tentative fingers.  The toasted bagel was still a little warm, and the smell of it sent his stomach rumbling greedily again.  He was such an idiot sometimes.

 

“Come on, sit down.  We’re breakfasting. You should be sitting.  It’s only proper.  There’s almost room; we’ll get cozy.”  Darren scooted over on the fairly narrow steps to his trailer.

 

Chris sat down next to Darren on the top step. There was barely room at all, and their thighs and shoulders pressed tight together.  Chris could feel the heat of Darren’s leg against his own, and the shifting of Darren’s shoulder against his as he began to eat his sandwich. It took him a moment to settle his heartbeat into something resembling a normal rhythm.

 

They ate in relative silence – just the rustling of the paper wrapper and two boys chewing. The sounds of a studio set coming to life echoed faintly around them, but neither of them noticed.

 

“Thank you,” Darren said, when he’d finished his half and balled the wrapper up, shoving it in the bag.  “I really do appreciate it.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“We should have another movie night, just you and me.”  Darren said, apropos of nothing.  Chris looked over at him, and found Darren’s face right there, just inches from his own.  He could count every eyelash, could see every fleck of color in his eyes.

  
“We should,” he agreed.  He probably would have agreed to anything with Darren’s eyes, and lips, so close to his own.

 

“Soon?”

 

“Extremely.”

 

“I’ll make sure Joey’s not hanging around.  You know he’ll just steal all our food and talk over whatever movie we watch.”

 

“But I like Joey.” Chris fluttered his eyelashes a little and let something of a flirtatious smile curve his lips.  Darren rolled his eyes and huffed a discontented sigh.

 

“Of course you do.  _Everybody_ loves Joey.”

 

Chris just grinned.  This was ok. This was easy. He could do this. They’d done this before, when they’d first met and Chris was hopelessly in awe of Darren, of the boy he’d been watching on YouTube and was suddenly working with, but trying so hard to hide it.  When they’d spent countless hours together, just talking, getting to know each other the way new friends do.  That had been easy too.

 

But somewhere along the way he’d gotten lost, had dug himself too deep a hole over the things he couldn’t change – about Darren, about his own feelings. He’d drawn himself a line, marked where the safe distance to stay behind was, and tried so damned hard to remain there.  It hadn’t worked.

 

And now, now he was going back, erasing that line with a few careful swipes of his toe. He didn’t know where or what it would get him, but in the gentle light of the morning, with Darren pressed warm and sweet against his side, anything felt possible.


	6. Chapter 6

Darren remembered his first day on Glee like he’d relived it every day after it happened.  And in some ways, he had.  It was the day that changed his life so abruptly and so utterly that it would never, ever be the same again – of course he thought about it endlessly.

 

He’d woken up that morning four hours before his call time (his very first call time to the Glee set and fuck was that a scary thought), unable to sleep any longer for the fear and excitement and nervous energy thrumming through every fiber of his being.  He’d lain sprawled across his bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the tick of the clock on the wall echo throughout the room until he couldn’t stand it anymore and had to get up.

 

That morning, it had felt like he was moving through molasses.  It took him forever to shower, his limbs slow and unresponsive, despite how his heart seemed to be beating just a little too fast for 4:30 in the morning.  He’d turned the water up as hot as it would go, which, considering how shitty his and Joey’s place was, wasn’t all that hot, and stood under the spray until his heart had slowed back down to a relatively normal pace. And then he’d poured way too much shampoo into his hand before remembering that he’d cut all his hair off for the audition, the last audition he was going to allow himself to go out for before he let it go, before he moved on to something else.

 

The first two auditions had been hard enough – going out for a part that he knew he wasn’t quite right for, but still wanting, _needing_ , to give it a shot, give it a chance and see where it got him. He wanted to be on that show – Darren knew how great of an opportunity it could be for him.  The third time, though, he’d thought he’d done all right, as far as auditions went.  But he’d known – in his heart he’d known – that they weren’t going to offer it to him.  The character of Finn Hudson was just not for him, but still, he’d given it his best, and at least now the creators and producers knew who he was, knew his face and his voice.

 

The second audition had been weird, even weirder than most auditions, which, honestly, were all strange and uncomfortable processes.  There hadn’t been a part to go out for, not specifically. He’d gone in and played a few songs on his guitar, spoken with Ryan Murphy for a little while about his previous acting experience, about Starkid, about his time in San Francisco. His first audition wasn’t even mentioned.  (To this day, Darren didn’t know if Ryan remembered him from his first audition or not.) And then it was over, and there still wasn’t a part for him.

 

And when his manager had called him about yet another audition (third time’s a charm!), he’d almost said no before she had even told him what the part was. It felt like too much, too desperate.  Going out a third time had felt like he was clawing pathetically at Ryan Murphy’s pant leg, begging him for love and attention and _please god hire me I’ll do anything_.  And besides, he didn’t think he’d be able to handle the rejection a third time.

 

But then she’d told him about the part.  Blaine – the out and proud gay kid from a prep school who becomes something of a mentor to Kurt.  And Darren had wanted it, completely and wholly wanted the part.  He wanted to be that person – that positive voice – for so many kids out there.  Growing up where he did, with the gay community and the theatre community, he hadn’t always considered how lucky he was to be exposed to so many different lifestyles and shades of normal at such an early age.  And then he’d gone off to the mid-West for college and realized how different his upbringing was.  This role, this _Blaine_ , had immediately struck him as an opportunity to speak out for all those kids who couldn’t.

 

When he’d hung up the phone, excitement and anticipation already making him a little jittery and bouncy, he’d looked at himself in the mirror, really looked. He stared for a long couple of minutes at his hair – the huge mess of curls that he’d spent so long thinking of as _him_.  Everyone knew him as that guy with the hair who brought his goddamn guitar with him everywhere and played even when maybe people didn’t want him to.

 

 _You are so not a prep school kid_.

 

So Darren had gone out – right then and there – and gotten a haircut, a pretty severe one at that.  It wasn’t a buzz cut, but it felt damn close.  He would be a liar if he said he hadn’t gotten a tear in his eye when the stylist had snipped the first lock of hair from his head.  She’d offered to give him that lock – as a keepsake – and Darren had almost done it, almost.  But he’d let the hair fall to the salon floor and get swept away into the trash with the rest of it.

 

When it was over, the man who’d looked back at him in the huge mirror wasn’t him at all.  He’d had short hair before, but it had been years, years and a lifetime of long, messy, out of control hair.  And then there he’d sat – hair short, eyes suddenly so much more prominent on his face when they weren’t hidden behind his curls.

 

 _This has to be me now_ , he’d thought. _If I don’t get the part, I can never tell anyone I cut my fucking hair for an audition_.

 

But he had gotten the part, had completely nailed the audition if he was being perfectly honest with himself.  And a few days later was his first call time.  It was scary and surreal and he felt completely unprepared.

 

Darren remembered the way he sat in his car in front of his apartment for half an hour, after he’d finally gotten out of the shower and into some clothes: his nicest pair of jeans, his favorite shoes, and his tote bag that he clutched like a security blanket.  At least he’d managed to shave without nicking himself.  Nothing said “hi I’m the new kid and I’m scared shitless” like a few shaving nicks across the jawline.

 

The key was in the ignition – he’d made it that far, but he hadn’t been able to get his nerveless fingers to turn the key.  So he’d sat there, forehead pressed to the steering wheel, taking deep, slow breaths.  Joey had finally come out, wrapped in a bathrobe with a fond, but exasperated expression on his sleepy face and tapped on his window.

 

“Get going, asshole, before they fire you on your first day.”  Then he’d promptly turned and shuffled back into the apartment.

  
Darren had laughed, which, of course, had been the point (Joey always knew how to snap him out of his occasional bouts of insecurity), and finally turned the key, starting up the car and beginning his rather short trip to Paramount Studios.

 

*******

 

When he’d gotten to Paramount – and flashing his ID and pass to the security who let him through had been a _trip_ – he’d sat in his car in the parking lot for another ten minutes before he’d gotten up the nerve and the gumption to just get out of the goddamn car.

 

Except then he didn’t know where he needed to go.  The turnaround from the audition to his first day had been so damn quick that he hadn’t even been told of his shooting schedule or what he would really be doing at all.  He’d just been sent the script and his Paramount ID badge and instructions to show up at 8am sharp on Monday.

 

The Glee backlot was huge; there were trailers everywhere and they all looked exactly the same. Darren didn’t exactly want to wander around, poking his nose into different trailers, aimlessly looking for someone to point him in the right direction.  He was fairly certain that, despite his little badge, a security guard wouldn’t be too pleased with him, and he didn’t fancy getting escorted from the premises on his first day.  Not exactly the first impression he wanted to make with the people he hoped to be working with for quite some time.

 

He hadn’t found someone to help him, but someone had found him.

 

He’d been hovering around one of the trailers, watching the growing rush of PAs and crew and cast members as the set slowly came to life around him, when a tentative voice called out for him.

 

Darren turned to find Chris, Christopher fucking Colfer, a few feet away, walking towards him. The other man was smiling and waving at him and Darren had never been so relieved to see someone in his life.

 

“Hi, you’re Darren,” Chris had said, and he’d offered his hand to shake. His hand had been warm and soft in Darren’s, his grip firm and steady.

 

“That I am. And you’re Chris Colfer.” Darren had mentally slapped himself for turning into Captain Obvious.

 

“Guilty as charged.”  Chris had finally pulled his hand away.  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.  I hope it’s ok to tell you that I’m actually kind of a fan of yours.”

 

“What?” Darren had almost taken a step back in surprise.  “No shit.  No way.”

 

“Yeah,” Chris rubbed sheepishly at the side of his neck, clearly a little discomfited about his revelation.  “I bought your EP when it came out.  And I’m a huge fan of Starkid and the Harry Potter musicals.  Huge.  I’ve seen them a million times.  Not even joking.”  Chris didn’t say that he’d downloaded all the ripped mp3 files of Darren’s live shows that he could find and had them all on his iPod.

 

“You’re just pandering to me, trying to make the new kid feel good.”

 

“I’m not! I swear.  I wouldn’t lie about something like that. I know all the dialogue and the songs and sometimes I sing along and wow this is actually really embarrassing to tell you when we’ve only just met you probably think I’m a crazy person and I should stop talking now.” Chris stopped and took a breath.

 

“No! Oh my god, Chris. I’ve never met anyone besides my friends who’ve seen our stupid little shows.  Wow, I love you.”

 

Even as the words had left his lips, Darren wished he could take them back. He was so used to telling everyone he knew that he loved them all the time that sometimes the words slipped out of him in situations, like this one, where maybe they weren’t entirely appropriate.  He forgot that some people had more defined boundaries than he and his closest friends did, and that he needed to respect those boundaries, at least until he knew a person better. Chris Colfer was completely new to him (watching all the Glee episodes and downloading Chris’ interviews from YouTube didn’t count), and he needed to remember to hold back his ‘I love you’s’ and his propensity for vulgar language until he was surer of Chris.

 

Chris’ eyes had widened in shock when Darren said what he did and an adorable blush had crept up his cheeks.  He’d licked his lips and rubbed at his neck in what Darren was quickly recognizing was a nervous gesture, but hadn’t said anything else.

 

“Well,” Darren had said, clearing his throat and attempting to run his hand through his hair before remembering he didn’t hardly have any hair left. “I hope you’re here to tell me what to do and where to go.  I’m lost.”

 

Chris had grinned, clearly relieved at the change of subject, and taken Darren’s elbow in his hand, gently leading him away from his hiding place. “Come on, follow me. I know a shortcut to the hair and make up trailer.  I’ll take you.”

 

Working with Chris Colfer was a dream come true for Darren.

  
Chris was smart and funny, dedicated and hardworking – everything Darren wanted in a co-worker and a friend.  Their relationship progressed so quickly, so naturally, that soon Darren forgot what it was like _before_ Chris. He forgot what life was like before long, endless hours on set, giggling over Harry Potter and Avatar and Star Wars and every other bit of nerd culture they could think to talk about between their scenes.  He forgot about nights without strange and wonderful texts coming in at 2am – photos of Chris’ fish, random quotes from movies he was watching because he couldn’t sleep, bits of dialogue from the book he was writing.

 

Filming with Chris was easy and it was fun.  Chris was on time and prepared every day; knew his lines inside and out and had thought more deeply about any given scene than Darren had ever expected.  He was beyond amazed by Chris, knowing that the younger man had been working on his book and his movie (incredible accomplishments in their own rights), while filming Glee at the same time.  Darren had thought that _he_ was a busy man, and then he’d met Chris.

 

It didn’t take long – maybe a few weeks if Darren was perfectly honest with himself – before he began to count Chris as one of his closest friends, on set and off. Given that at first, he was almost sequestered away from the rest of the main cast members – off at the Dalton set with Chris and the rest of the Warbler boys – it wasn’t a surprise at all how quickly he’d become attached to Chris, how different their relationship was from the others.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the rest of the cast – he did – it was just that he hardly saw them.  And it was clear, at first sight, that they’d all developed this seemingly impenetrable family dynamic, and Darren was too nervous, too _new_ to try and break into it.  The few times during his first season on the show when he’d actually had scenes at McKinley, he’d kept to himself.  The first time he shot with the rest of the cast he’d even tried to take his lunch to his car, but Chris had grabbed him halfway to the parking lot and dragged him, sitting him down at the table next to him and Mark. He didn’t say much, but Chris was a warm, familiar, comforting presence against his side.

 

Even if it took some time to get comfortable with the others, Darren looked forward to every minute he got to spend with Chris.  It didn’t matter if it was filming their scenes, or rehearsing the numbers with him and the rest of the Warblers, or merely sitting in Chris’ trailer running lines.  He just reveled in Chris’ presence, however it came – in his wit, his quick intelligence, his wonderfully dark humor that he didn’t get to show that often.

 

And Darren looked forward to the end of the day, when sometimes they’d get take out and go back to Chris’ place and watch Disney movies or old musicals until Chris fell asleep on the couch with the movie still playing.  Once he fell asleep still sitting up with the box of Thai food cradled in his hands.  Those nights, Darren would tuck the blanket that hung over the back of the couch around Chris and then quietly let himself out of the house. Darren always got a text in the morning when Chris woke up, thanking him for it.

 

When Blaine’s characterization had changed from the older mentor, just trying to help a scared, lonely kid out, to the supportive, endearing boyfriend, Darren had rolled with it.  It wasn’t his job to critique the writing or the plot – he was honestly just happy to be there and be a part of the show.  And he _was_ excited to be able to play that role, to be a part of a positive gay relationship on network television. It was huge and it was important and groundbreaking, and Darren had been scared and humbled and eager to be a part of it.

 

He’d gotten the script for Original Song and had immediately sent Chris a text that was just an obnoxious string of kissy faces.  He’d gotten one back that he was pretty sure was meant to be a mouth with a tongue poking out of it, but he couldn’t be quite sure. He saved the text though.

 

Almost immediately, people began to ask him if he was nervous or concerned about having to kiss another boy, as if it was something _to_ be concerned about.  It had taken everything in Darren not to lash out against their ignorance and publicly say something he was sure to regret. Sexuality wasn’t something that Darren gave a lot of thought to, at least not on a day-to-day basis. He hated to say that he didn’t believe in labels, because even that was becoming a clichéd phrase, but it was true.  He didn’t care what a person was, or who they loved, or who they were sexually attracted to. It didn’t matter to him, not in the least.  A person was a person first; whatever else they were came a distant second, if it came at all.

 

As for his own brand of sexuality, he didn’t really care about that either. It was easier to just let people assume what they wanted to about him.  Gay, straight, bi – it didn’t matter what they called him. What mattered was that he knew what he liked and what he wanted.

 

Filming the kiss had been an event.  He’d filmed kisses before, on Glee and elsewhere, but for some reason this one had felt different – bigger, significant.  He’d woken early that morning – too early – and had felt fluttery and off balance all day.  He’d even flubbed some lines during some of the earlier scenes, which was something he never did.

 

And then, sitting across from Chris, from _Kurt_ , waiting for his cue, he’d felt his stomach clench and sweat break out all across his back and forehead.

 

_Get it together. It’s just a kiss._

 

It was a good kiss though, all sixteen takes of it.  Darren would remember that kiss at the strangest times. He’d remember the way Chris had inhaled in surprise when Darren had slipped him a little tongue on the third take, purely on instinct, and the way Chris had tasted of breath mints and something deeper, indefinable.  He’d recall the way Chris’ hand had come up to cup his cheek – how once he’d gripped tightly at the back of Darren’s head, pulling him closer, _closer_ , only to have the director yell _cut_ and tell them to back it down a little.

 

And he’d remember the wide-eyed shock on Chris’ face when they’d pulled apart after that first take.  The way he’d stared at Darren like he was someone he’d never met before.  The way Chris’ lips had gotten so very red and an adorable pink flush had crept up his cheeks and to his ears.

 

“So, was that good for you too?” Darren had asked, a little breathlessly, though he hadn’t meant to say anything at all.  The words had spilled from him the same way the “I love you” had when they’d first met.

 

Chris had blushed even further, enough that the makeup woman had come over and clucked her tongue at the both of them before brushing some powder across Chris’ cheeks.

 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have some practice kissing boys,” Chris had said, when the woman had left and he’d regained enough of his wits to come up with something to say beyond incoherent gurgling.

 

“A boy never reveals his secrets,” Darren had responded, and Chris had laughed, breathy and low in his throat.  And then the director had reset the shot and they went for it again. And again.

 

And again.

 

*******

 

Those months were some of the best of Darren’s life.  Shooting Glee, recording those songs, making friends with the Warblers and the cast, going on a worldwide tour, and Chris.

 

 _Chris_.

 

But then, like the reversal of the tide, it felt as though Chris was pulling away from him, slowly but surely.  He stopped inviting Darren over for their movie nights after those long days and nights on set. He stopped saving a place for Darren at the table when they both had the same lunch.  Their late night/early morning texts had trickled to a halt.  Chris had even started avoiding Darren on the red carpet at events and award shows.

 

At first, Darren had thought it was because of the kiss that he’d planted so unexpectedly on Chris at the end of the tour.  He knew that he’d shocked the hell out of Chris with that move, but he thought it was ok – that they were close enough for something like that to not cross any boundaries.  Darren had worried that maybe he’d pushed too far with that unscripted kiss, but then Chris had talked about it in interviews with such genuine fondness and amusement that Darren knew that wasn’t the reason for the sudden, growing distance between him and Chris.

 

A distance – that was what was forming.  It itched at Darren’s skin, niggled constantly at the back of his mind. He didn’t understand what was going on and he hated it.  Always there was the need to talk to Chris, to find out what was going on, what he’d _done_ to upset him. But he couldn’t. It felt like too much to try to bridge the widening gap between them, like he was pushing for something that maybe Chris didn’t want.

 

And when Darren thought about it, there were things about Chris that irked at him, but he could never explain why.  It was the way Chris would sit on Chord’s lap when space was tight, but never Darren’s. The way Chris let Cory and Harry steal his food without even batting an eye; he would just continue his conversation as though nothing was amiss. The way he went everywhere with Ashley – out to lunch, to bars, shopping – but never with Darren. It was in the way Lea could hold Chris’ hand at press events and awards shows and no one raised an eyebrow.

 

Darren knew that he could be a jealous person (it was a flaw that he constantly worked on), but he hadn’t realized that his jealousy could extend to his friendships, or that it could run so deep.  It ached and burned at him – knowing that Chris behaved differently with him than he did with the others.  That it seemed like he was closer to them than he was with Darren.  That Chris was actively pulling away from him for some unknown reason.

 

It all came to a head inside of him when Matt Bomer arrived on set.  Darren had known that he’d like Matt instantly, and he had. How could he not? The man looked like a Disney Prince and acted like a five-year-old kid hopped up on sugar.  But Darren hadn’t known how jealous he’d become when Matt and Chris became so close and so fucking _flirty_ in a matter of days.

 

He tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter, that it didn’t mean anything. But it did, it meant something to him.  And then Chris telling him, in front of Matt, in front of everyone, after the last few months of that painful, growing distance, that he was fucking _proud_ of him had been the last straw.

 

Storming from the table had been childish and ridiculous, but apparently it had worked.

 

Darren wasn’t quite sure where he and Chris stood after that little fight _(oh god we had a fight)_ , but now that it was over, now that they seemed ok again, or at least getting there, it felt like the pieces were slowly coming back together, fitting themselves back into place.

 

Darren had felt incomplete with Chris suddenly so far away from him, but he was beginning to feel whole again.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Chris didn’t hesitate to swing by Darren’s favorite little café to pick up breakfast and coffee for the both of them again before heading to set. The sandwich he’d shared with Darren the morning before _had_ been wonderful, and he knew Darren would appreciate the gesture. And it was nice that this time the breakfast wasn’t the opening salvo of a well-deserved apology.

 

The same barista was there as the day before and he caught the name “Ella” scrawled out on the bottom of the chalkboard that noted that day’s lunch special and coffee roast.

 

There was another person in line before him, but the barista, Ella, caught his eye and a grin flickered across her face.  Chris didn’t know how to feel that she seemed to recognize him already, or that she looked amused to see him again.

 

The man in front of him seemed to be ordering coffee for a group, but Chris was early as always, and it gave him time to stare at the menu.  He knew he could just order what Darren always got, but for some reason that seemed oddly intimate, to share a breakfast order. As if they didn’t share enough things already.  But nothing else on the menu sounded as good.

 

“Back again so soon?” The barista asked him, when it was his turn to order.

 

“Well, it was good.  Why switch it up?”

 

“Mhmm. So what can I get for you this morning?  Same as yesterday?”

 

“Yes, please, except two of them this time.  Thanks.”

 

Ella nodded and moved down the counter to start putting the breakfast sandwiches together. Chris watched her hands as she effortlessly and efficiently assembled the ingredients together.

 

He wondered, briefly, if he could do this.  Stop with this whole entertainment business nonsense and find a _normal_ job.  He could still write.  He could sell his house and get a little apartment, spend his mornings working at some café with customers that he liked and became friends with, and his evenings with his fish and his laptop, putting down all the words that were constantly swirling through his head with the stress of filming a TV show up to 18 hours a day.

 

And maybe there was someone there with him, someone sitting next to him on the couch while he wrote, rubbing a foot against his ankle, pressed close and warm against his side.

 

Chris didn’t realize he was smiling softly, wistfully, staring at nothing but the sweet and serene vision of a future he probably wouldn’t have, until Ella set a brown paper bag down in front of him.  It snapped him back to reality.

 

“So you’re one of Darren’s friends,” she said, and she flicked her eyes up and down his body, taking his measure.  She folded her arms across her chest and leaned her hip against the counter.

 

“I am,” Chris said, and he reached out to pull the bag closer to him. There were two cups of coffee in a tray next to it.  “We – we work together.”  He dug into his pocket for his wallet.

 

“Uh-huh. None of his other _friends_ come by and get him breakfast.  Especially not two mornings in a row.” Chris could hear the teasing lilt in Ella’s voice and it grated across his nerves.

 

 _She thinks we’re fucking, and that this is post-sex breakfast_.

 

Chris hated how quickly the blush crept up his cheeks.  “Yes, well, we’re close.”

 

“You’re his boyfriend.”

 

Chris almost choked on his spit and fumbled with his wallet.  “I-”

 

“On the show. You play his boyfriend. I can’t remember your character’s name; I don’t watch it, sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” Chris flushed an even deeper shade of red and he handed her some cash. It felt like everything in the universe was conspiring to embarrass him this week.

 

“But he talks about it.  He comes here a lot. I think he feels comfortable here. And he talks about you.”

 

“Well, we’re friends.”

 

“Uh-huh.” She gave him back his change, which he promptly put in the tip jar. “I’m Ella,” she said, sticking her hand out for him to shake.

 

“Chris.”

 

“You should get going before that cools off too much.  But I’m sure I’ll start seeing you around here more often.”

 

“Yes,” Chris gathered up his and Darren’s breakfasts.  “I’m sure you will.”

 

*******

 

Chris once again found Darren in the hair and makeup trailer, tucked up small in a chair with his bare feet pressed against the edge of the counter. Janis, their hair department head, was digging through a bag at the other end of the trailer and Darren looked to be waiting around to get his hair slicked back and down for that day’s scenes. His flip-flops were on the floor next to the chair and his arms were resting on his knees, hands dangling limply over them.  He looked tired that morning; his body language read exhausted and his face was paler than usual.

 

But Darren’s face lit up when he saw Chris, and his smile widened even further when he saw the brown paper bag and tray of coffee cups in his hands.

 

“You brought me breakfast again?” Darren asked, making grabby hands towards Chris.

 

“No.”

 

Darren’s face fell, eyebrows furrowing and a ridiculous pout curving his mouth.

 

“I brought _us_ breakfast.”

 

“Yay!”

 

Chris sat down in one of the chairs next to Darren.  He would have sat on the counter, but last time he’d tried that Janis had threatened him with a heated curling iron.

 

Chris handed Darren one of the sandwiches and cups of coffee.  Darren’s had cream and a few pumps of vanilla flavoring in it.  Chris didn’t know why he didn’t just order a latte, but it’s what Ella told him that Darren got every time he came in.  And who was he to argue with Ella?

 

He shook his head fondly at the way Darren tore the wrapper off the sandwich and took an enormous bite out of it.  Served him right if he burnt his tongue on the still-hot cheese. Chris’ breath caught in his throat when Darren moaned a little obscenely at the taste of the sandwich.

 

“Don’t you ever eat anything before you get here?” Chris asked, just to fill the silence.

 

“It’s 6 o’clock in the morning!” Darren responded, when he’d finally managed to chew through his bite and swallow it down.  “I can hardly find shoes that early.  And besides, why would I eat anything if you’re going to keep feeding me when you get here?”

 

Chris couldn’t argue with that.

 

“Tell me the two of you aren’t eating in my trailer?” Janis asked, finally coming back to Darren’s chair.  She had a black comb and a new American Crew pomade container in her hands. Darren rolled his eyes at the sight of them, but there was nothing he could do about it.

 

“The two of us aren’t eating in your trailer,” Chris responded, and he sent a quick wink at Darren, who grinned back at him around another mouthful.

 

“Oh really, because it sure looks like you are.” Janis set the items in her hands down on the counter.  “What does the sign say, boys?”  She put her hands on her hips and jerked her head towards the wall, where a handwritten sign that read NO FOOD was tacked up.

 

“It says NOF OOD.  You know, all this time, I’m still trying to figure out what that means.”

 

Janis reached over and flicked Chris on the ear.

 

“Hey!” He yelped, and tried to swat her back, but she stepped nimbly out of the way.

 

“Fine,” Janis said, tone full of fondness and exasperation.  “But just this once.”

 

“Every time is just this once,” Darren muttered into his coffee.

 

“Just sit still would you?”

 

Chris watched as Janis neatly and adeptly slicked Darren’s messy curls down into the latest incarnation of Blaine’s hair, combing the pomade through with short, proficient strokes.  Chris knew he was completely and utterly biased against this particular style, but he couldn’t help it.  He hated the change between Blaine’s second and third season hairstyles.  He wanted to be able to run his hands through Darren - _Blaine’s_ hair during their more intimate scenes.  He wanted to be able to drape his arm around Blaine’s shoulders during their background shots in the choir room and auditorium and thread his fingers through the short curls at the back of his head.

 

Sometimes he even thought about talking to Ryan Murphy about it, but somehow that didn’t quite seem appropriate.

 

“Are you ever afraid it’s going to stay this way?” Chris asked, when Janis had finished her work, and Darren’s hair was hardly recognizable as hair at all.

 

“What?”

 

“Your hair.” Chris flicked his fingers at Darren’s head, careful not to touch. He’d done that once before – ran his hand across the top of Darren’s head – and ended up having to wash his hands for an hour.

 

“I don’t think hair works like that,” Darren said, frowning a little as he looked at himself in the mirror.  He touched his fingers tentatively to his severely styled hair.

 

“Good, because I prefer it _au natural_.”

 

Darren turned his head and looked, really looked, at Chris.  Chris hated how quickly Darren could switch from doofy dorky ridiculous _Darren_ , to a man who seemed to be able to peel back every layer of him with a single look and find the writing on his bones that made him who he was.

 

It sent a shiver down his spine.

 

“So,” Darren began, after a long moment.  “Are you coming over tonight or what?”

 

“Huh?” Chris blinked a few times.

 

“Breakfast the other day?” Darren lifted a dark eyebrow.  “We agreed that we’d have another movie night – just you and me and more food than we can eat.  I told Joey to be somewhere else tonight.”

 

“What if I have plans?  Sometimes I have plans, you know.  I could extremely busy tonight.”

 

Darren didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at Chris with one cocked eyebrow until Chris broke.

 

“Goddamnit, you’re impossible.  Yes, I’m coming over tonight.”

 

“Wait, what’s happening tonight?”

 

Chris and Darren turned to see Matt Bomer coming into the trailer.  He had a pair of comfortable-looking jeans and a black t-shirt on, and once again, his hair was a little too perfect for such an early hour.  Chris really kind of hated how effortlessly attractive Matt really was.  Shouldn’t a man with three young children look exhausted and _ugly_ once in a while?

 

“Morning, big bro!” Darren called out, grinning and waving enthusiastically.

 

Matt clapped Darren on the shoulder when he came close enough, squeezing fondly. Chris watched as Darren leaned into the touch.

 

“Morning,” Matt replied, and he bumped his hip against Chris’ in greeting. Chris swatted at Matt’s leg.

 

“Are you excited to film today?” Chris asked. “It’s our hallway scene.”

 

“I’m excited just to be here.”

 

“Seriously? That’s your line?”

 

“What? It’s true!  I get to sing and dance and say silly things.” Matt hoisted himself up onto the countertop that both Chris and Darren knew better than to sit on. They exchanged quick, amused glances and waited for the inevitable outcome of Matt’s seating choice.

 

“And I get to hang out with you two,” Matt continued.  “What’s better than that?”

 

Darren _awwwed_ obnoxiously and Chris opened his mouth to say something snarky, but Janis’ voice, booming from the other end of the trailer where she was gathering up a few different hair products, interrupted him.

 

“Mr. Bomer!”

 

“Yes ma’am?” He sent Janis his biggest, brightest grin, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on her whatsoever.

 

“Off my counter, if you please.”

 

“But mom!” Matt swung his feet, looking as much like a little boy as a 6-foot-tall man possibly could.

 

“I’d listen to her, Matty,” Darren said.  “I tried it once and she hasn’t stopped doing this to my hair since.” He pointed sadly at his hair.

 

“And she threatened me with a curling iron,” Chris added.  “She means business.”

 

Matt sighed dramatically before sliding off the counter, shifting to lean against it instead.  “So what’s going on with you boys tonight?”

 

“Movie night. It’s been a while,” Darren said. Finally finished with his sandwich, he wadded up the wrapper and launched it at the trashcan across the trailer. “Did you,” Darren sent a quick glance at Chris, and then back to Matt. “Did you want to come over too?”

 

Matt pressed his lips together and peeked over at Chris, who was suddenly very interested in the remnants of his own breakfast.  “Thanks, man, but I’m gonna have to rain check you. Date night with my own guy. We’ve got a babysitter and everything.”

 

Chris let out a soft breath that he didn’t even know he was holding in.

 

“That’s cool,” Darren shrugged.  “Another time.”

 

“I’m still going to find a way to get one or both of you to babysit for me though.”

 

“Anytime.”

 

“Chitchat time’s over boys,” Janis said.  “Get out of here, kid.  It’s Chris and Matt’s turn.”  She pushed Darren out of the chair and gestured for Matt to take a seat.

 

“So, tonight then?” Darren asked Chris as he slid his feet back into his flip-flops.

 

“Just as soon as we’re done filming.”  
  
“Excellent.  See you two in a quick minute!”  Darren sketched them both a wave as he left the trailer, the coffee cup that Chris had brought him still in hand. 

 

Chris watched Darren go until the door closed behind him.  He brought his own coffee back up to his lips and tasted cream and vanilla flavoring.

 

“So, a movie night?”

 

Chris startled at the sound of Matt’s voice.  He dragged his eyes from the closed trailer door and found Matt regarding him closely, elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his fists. His eyes were bright blue and acutely intelligent under the warm lighting.  Chris swallowed as he felt those eyes rake over his face, taking in every tic and twitch and absolutely _knowing_ everything there was to know about him.

 

“Yes, a movie night.”

 

“Just you and Darren.”

 

There was a quirk to Matt’s lips and a lilt to his voice that simultaneously pleased and annoyed Chris.

 

_He knows he knows he knows everything. Damn the man._

 

“Yep. We used to do it more often, but we haven’t lately.”  Chris didn’t bother trying to explain the myriad reasons why that was, especially considering so many of those reasons didn’t even make any sense to him.  “So we’re…picking it back up.”

 

Matt made a noncommittal sound before he sat up straight in the chair.

 

“I’m not joking about that babysitting though.  You and Darren could both come over.  I know three kids can be a lot, especially when you’re not used to it.”

 

“I thought you said you had a sitter?”  Chris asked carefully, and he watched Matt’s face for any embarrassment at getting caught in his lie.  There was none.

 

“Don’t be obtuse, Christopher,” Matt said, and that look was back in his eyes. That look that said _I know_.

  
Chris swallowed.

 

“We’d love to.”

 

 _You said we.  You are such an idiot_.

 

“Excellent. I’ll have to figure out a good night for Simon and I’ll let you know.” Matt clapped his hands together. “Well, I really am excited for today.”

 

Chris felt his shoulders relax at the sudden change of subject.

 

“It’s gonna be so much fun, having you fanboy over me.”

  
Chris rolled his eyes.  “You would like that.  I’m going to sneak into the auditorium during yours and Darren’s scene and make obnoxious faces at the both of you.  Just to get you back.”

 

“Try it, Colfer.  Just try it.”

 

Chris laughed.  Whatever trepidation he felt about his upcoming night with Darren melted away as he sat in the hair and makeup trailer with Matt, laughing and joking and teasing as they both got their hair done for the upcoming filming.

  
Chris wondered, when the time came, _if_ the time came, if he could _talk_ to Matt.  When he remembered the way Matt looked at him when he caught him staring at Darren, he was pretty sure he knew the answer.


	8. Chapter 8

“Hey, you’re here!” Darren greeted brightly as he threw open the door to his and Joey’s place.  He was in sweatpants and a thin, plain grey v-neck shirt.  His hair was wet from a shower and, even from the doorway, Chris could smell his body wash and shampoo. 

 

“And you brought Thai!  How did you even know I was craving it?  Goddamn I love you.”

 

Chris just smiled; it was becoming easier and easier to have Darren say those words to him, and have them mean what they meant.

 

“You’re always craving Thai.  You gonna take one of these bags before you end up cleaning Penang curry off your floor? Again?”

 

“Yeah yeah,” Darren grabbed one of the bags from Chris’ overloaded hands and closed the door behind him.  “Brat.”

 

Chris followed Darren to the living room where they set the take-out down on the coffee table that was cluttered with scripts and CDs, sheet music covered in Darren’s scrawl and half a dozen guitar picks.  Chris busied himself with pulling cartons and boxes out of the bags while Darren retreated to the kitchen to grab plates and drinks.

 

Once again, Chris had ordered far more food than the two of them could eat in one night, but he always left the rest for Darren, who had a terrible habit of having an empty refrigerator 80% of the time.  Chris didn’t know how Joey put up with there never being any food in their house.  Sure, their home was full of love and light and laughter, but they still needed to eat. At least after one of these movies nights, Darren and Joey had enough food to feed themselves for a day or two.

 

Darren returned to the living room with a couple of plates and utensils in his hands and several cans of Diet Coke and water bottles tucked into the crook of his arms. Chris helped him set everything down on the table before he started dishing out food.  Whenever they got take-out, he basically ordered one of everything they liked and just shared everything.

 

“OK,” Darren began, settling down on the couch with a plate piled high with food and a bottle of water tucked against his hip.  “I know we said _movie night_ ,” Darren made little quotes in the air with one hand.  “But do you mind if we rewatch Avatar? The Legend of Korra is starting soon and I want to have it all fresh in my mind.”

 

“Didn’t we watch the whole series like, six months ago?”

 

“What exactly is your point?”

 

Chris laughed at the confused expression on Darren’s face – all scrunchy nose and furrowed eyebrows.  “No point at all. You know I’ll watch Avatar with you anytime, anyplace.”

 

As the first episode began to play, and Darren started humming along to the theme song, bouncing a little, Chris felt all the tension he’d been carrying unconsciously for _months_ begin to drain away.

 

He’d missed this, more than he realized.  Darren’s place always felt so comfortable – homey, broken-in.  The tangled mess of his and Joey’s lives were scattered throughout the rooms.  Shoes in the entryway.  Post-it Notes on the fridge.  Clothing in each other’s drawers.  A quilt on the back of the couch that had come from Darren’s parents’ house, to Ann Arbor, and now to California.

 

Chris liked it here.  He loved his own house, how he was slowly but surely making it his own with his photographs and his fish, and his growing mess of new ideas - things he wanted to write and work on when he had the time.  But Darren’s place felt instantly like home.  And he couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d tried so hard to stay out of it.

 

*******

 

A few hours later, snuggled against the armrest with a full, satisfied belly, Chris was nursing another drink and contemplating any possible deeper meanings of the Cabbage Guy when Darren decided to open his mouth.

 

“It’s ridiculous how we never get to kiss,” he said, apropos of nothing.

 

Chris choked on his pop, inhaling it up and out his nose.  Tears sprung to his eyes as the carbonation burned through his nasal passages.  He clapped a hand to his face, hiding the mess he’d just made, as he coughed helplessly, body struggling to clear the drink out.

 

“Oh my god, Chris. I’m sorry.  You ok?”  Darren leaned over the middle of the couch and patted ineffectually at Chris’ back, trying so very hard not to laugh as Chris groped for a napkin.

 

“No, I am not ok,” Chris grumbled, wiping at his face.  “I just shot Diet Coke out of my nose.  Shit fucking _burns_.”

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d have quite that reaction.  I’d have waited until you finished swallowing otherwise.”

 

“Yeah well, think before you speak.” Chris threw the napkin onto the table. His eyes were still watering a little.

 

“So, as I was saying, before you so rudely interrupted me with your near-death experience--”

 

Chris reached over and punched Darren in the shoulder.

 

“--we should get to kiss more,” he finished, rubbing at the spot where Chris’ knuckles had connected.

 

“We should?”  Chris hated, absolutely hated, how high and breathy his voice became just then.

 

“Yeah, I mean.  We’re in a relationship.  A long, stable, loving one.  And we’ve had what?  Three kisses that aired?  Doesn’t seem fair to the characters, if you ask me.”  Darren took a long drink of his water and missed the flash of hurt realization that crossed Chris’ features.

 

 _Kurt and Blaine_ , Chris thought. _I am an idiot_.

 

“Oh, right. Not fair at all.” Chris swallowed down his discomfiture. Suddenly, his brain flashed him – like an old film reel – images of all those kisses, all those moments they’d shared.

 

_Sixteen takes._

 

Darren taking his hand over and over, his palm warm and perfect against the back of Chris’ hand.  His eyes huge and gleaming, that warm tea color, just a few feet away.  His pupils blown even under the bright set lights. Darren rising up from that chair again and again, leaning towards him, capturing his mouth in that perfect fucking kiss that should have been awkward and uncomfortable and strange, but wasn’t.  Not even the first one, the first take, when Darren rushed it a little – clearly nervous, but going for it – and almost missed Chris’ lips altogether.  Even _that_ was perfect.

 

And then, takes two, five, nine – over and over again.  Darren sucking so sweetly on his lower lip, his hand cupping his cheek so gently, breathing in sharply.  His tongue, so quick, very subtle, just a taste against Chris’ own, pulling Chris deeper into the kiss, making him kiss back harder, more desperately than he had planned.  He’d almost ran his hand up through Darren’s hair, but caught himself just in time – content to hold Darren’s face to his, guiding him back for one last moment, one more taste of _more_ , before Darren pulled back and away to finish their scene.

 

But the stunned look in Darren’s eyes had stayed with Chris for weeks.

 

 _Sprawled on a bed_.

 

Watching Darren’s ridiculous little shimmy dance as he spouted his lines about Roxy Music and masturbation.  Chris had blushed when he’d read the script the first time, but it hadn’t prepared him for the actuality of Darren crawling toward him on a bed, looking deep into his eyes and talking about the possibility of sex.  It didn’t matter that they were just lines in a script for a TV show.  He’d felt Kurt’s nerves as his own, and Blaine’s care and concern as Darren’s.

 

And how Darren gripping his face in those warm, guiding hands and planting a joyful kiss on his mouth had felt just like the infamous kiss from the last night of the tour.  The spontaneity of it, the positioning of Darren’s hands against his jaw and curved around his skull, firm but careful, keeping him still as he fully controlled the kiss.

 

He’d spent the next day chastising himself over character bleed.

 

_Three hours in the back seat of a car._

 

The air in the car growing hot and damp around them as they moved against each other, with each other, take after take, even with the doors open to give the cameras room. Darren had felt so good splayed out beneath him, body compact and solid, perfectly warm and alive. Chris guiding Darren down to the seat time after time, taking care that he didn’t hit his head on the frame of the car.  Darren’s hands groping at him - no limits, no hesitation – clutching tight at his hips, pulling his shirt out of his pants, wrinkling the fabric enough that the PAs had to stop them and straighten Chris’ wardrobe more than once.

 

Chris had felt him, felt Darren, half-hard against his thigh.  The saliva flooded his mouth at the feel of it and it had taken everything in him to fight against the instinct to thrust forward, to drag his thigh against the bulk of Darren.  He’d wanted to see how fast he could get Darren fully hard, to know what kinds of sounds he could coax from his straining throat, to watch his pupils blow wide and his chest heave with every panting breath. But he hadn’t, he couldn’t. The director had called cut and they’d reset the shot.  Darren had glanced down at his lap and huffed out a little laugh – clearly unconcerned - and adjusted himself in his pants before climbing out of the car after Chris.

 

_Alone in the auditorium._

 

Darren in those white pants and damn if it hadn’t been hard to keep his eyes off his ass. The way that striped shirt had made his chest and shoulders look so broad.  How Chris had wanted to run his hand across the planes of Darren’s chest and down his torso, clutch at his sides and pull him close. But that wasn’t in the script.

 

The script itself was a heartfelt apology and a swift kiss.  Darren staring at him with those stupid tears in his eyes - his voice breaking with the emotion of the scene.  Sometimes Chris was blown away by just how _good_ Darren was.  He’d known, of course he’d known, how talented Darren was, but the singing and performing was obvious.  Sometimes his acting talent, his ability to interject the tiniest details into his performance, actually took Chris’ breath away.  He felt so fucking grateful and lucky that it was Darren, Darren of all people, who’d been cast as Blaine.

 

And then, Darren once again rushing towards him, Blaine coming to Kurt, and finding his mouth, his hand finding his hip unerringly.  Chris’ arms had come up and circled around Darren’s shoulders without it being a conscious decision.  It had just felt right, felt natural, to try and bring Darren closer to him. Slipping Darren a little tongue on the fourth take had felt right too.

 

“You should talk to Ryan about it,” Darren said, and it pulled Chris out of his reverie. He felt shivery and too-warm. He felt like Darren could see, could _know_ what he’d just been thinking.  


“What?” Chris’ tongue felt thick and slow in his mouth.

 

“About us kissing more,” Darren took another drink of his water. “You should talk to him about it.”

 

“You…want to kiss more?”

 

“Well, sure.  I mean, Kurt and Blaine’s relationship is really important, you know?  It’s a cultural phenomenon.  It’s groundbreaking.  For this gay couple to be featured on an extremely popular show on a decently rated network?  That’s actually really extraordinary if you think about it.  Not that long ago, Blaine and Kurt wouldn’t even have been characters, let alone in a relationship together.  I just think they should be more physical with each other – couples show affection, you know?  I think it’d be really special and significant for people across the country to see a gay couple act like every other couple on the planet with each other, and that includes kissing and holding hands and all that good stuff.”

 

Chris certainly couldn’t disagree with that.

 

“And what makes you think Ryan would listen to me?”

 

Darren gave Chris the biggest _are you fucking kidding me?_ look he’d been on the receiving end of in quite some time.

 

“Seriously? You get almost everything you want.”

 

“That’s not true,” Chris protested, and he sat up a little straighter on the couch, twisting to face Darren.  He tucked one leg up and left the other draped over the edge of the couch. Darren was already turned towards him with one elbow propped up on the back of a cushion.

“It really kind of is.  The sai swords. The roller coaster. The upcoming storyline,” Darren ticked the items off on his fingertips.

 

“Hey – I wanted to do a number on the roller coaster.  We’re only going to get to ride it.  Not the same.”

 

“Oh poor you.” Darren furrowed his brows in mock sympathy.  “I don’t even get to play at the amusement park with everyone.  That’s just not right.”

 

“And what about you?” Chris waggled his fingers in Darren’s direction. “Mr. Gets To Sing Every Song He Loves.”

 

“What can I say?  I have excellent taste in music.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure _that’s_ the reason.”

 

Darren laughed. “Ok, so how would you kiss m-Blaine?” And finally, a touch of pink tinged his cheeks.  “If you could do it your way?”

 

“I’d kiss him like I meant it.  I’d kiss him like he was my boyfriend.  Like I loved him.”

 

“So you’ve been holding back?”

 

“What?”

 

“When we kiss on the show – you’ve been holding back on me.  Why?”  Darren cocked his head and got that _look_ in his eyes, that look that said _I’m going to figure this out_.  “You’re worried about pushing too far, aren’t you?  Like you’re going to make me uncomfortable if you just go for it.”

 

Chris looked away.

 

“Chris, you can’t push too far with me.  It’s not possible.”  Darren extended his arm along the couch cushion, as if he was reaching towards Chris, but couldn’t quite reach him.  “I think you should show me.”

  
Chris’ head snapped back around and he met Darren’s eyes. There was no teasing, no joking – just curiosity.  And maybe a little daring.

 

“You’ve been watching too many rom-coms again,” he said, and he could feel the heat building in his face.  It suddenly felt too hot, too close on that sofa.

 

“We’re professionals.  This is our job.  Let’s practice.” Darren waggled his eyebrows at that, and Chris couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped from him.

 

“You’re ridiculous.  This can’t end well.”

 

_How could it possibly end well?_

 

“Oh come on.  We’re not drunk. We’ve kissed before,” Darren ticked the items off his fingers and Chris wished he’d stop doing that. Darren’s hands were rather distracting. “This isn’t uncharted territory.  Just kiss me like you mean it.  I want to know.  Show me.”

 

Chris knew this was a no good, very bad idea.  He knew it in his bones.  He’d seen enough movies, read enough books, heard more than enough stories from friends, and friends of friends who’d ruined _everything_ to know how this sort of thing always played out.

 

But Darren was right there, with his wide, earnest eyes, more golden than ever in the dim lighting of his living room.  He was right there with his soft lips, slightly parted, already so close. It would have taken a better man than Chris to resist what was being offered, what was being asked for.

 

_Darren. We’re more than friends. Why can’t you see that? Why don’t you get that?_

 

Chris scooted closer, his bent knee bumping Darren’s against the back of the couch.

 

He leaned in, lifting a hand to gently cradle Darren’s jaw.  His stubble was rough against his palm, but the skin behind his ear was smooth under his fingertips.

 

“OK?” He asked, staring into Darren’s eyes.  He needed to know, he had to know.  This close he could see every fleck of color in those eyes, could count every eyelash that fluttered.

 

“OK,” Darren whispered, and the word ghosted hot across Chris’ lips.

 

 _You’re going to regret this_ , Chris thought, and he didn’t know which one of them he meant.

 

Chris let his own eyes flutter shut as he closed the tiny gap between them and found Darren’s lips unerringly with his own.  Pleasure sparked hot and sweet down his back at the contact and he held back the moan that threatened to spill forward already.  He stroked his thumb softly against Darren’s cheekbone and delighted in the shiver he could feel ripple through Darren’s body at the touch. Chris felt one of Darren’s hands close gently around the back of his neck, holding him in place.

 

Darren inhaled sharply through his nose, as he always did, and the sound of his breath, over the pounding of Chris’ heart, was reassuring.  Familiar.  He was so used to Darren, to _Blaine_ initiating the kisses, that he worried briefly if this would feel off, would feel different.

 

And it did feel different - it felt better.  There was no else around.  No lights.  No cameras. No crew.  Just him, just Darren, just _them_.

 

Chris shivered as Darren gasped against his mouth and his lips parted, asking for more, asking _Chris_ for more. And Chris gave. Darren’s mouth was hot, so hot, as Chris surged inside, taking over, taking control.  He could taste, just faintly, the curry from their dinner as his tongue swept inside, which should have been disgusting, and wasn’t. Underneath, he could taste something deeper, something darker.

 

 _Darren_.

 

Chris wanted to take more, to push further.  He wanted Darren on his back, writhing beneath him, whimpering and moaning his name, pulling at his clothes, coming completely undone. He wanted Darren wrecked and wanton and unable to do anything except take what Chris was giving him. He wanted skin and heat, the slick slide and sweat and come.

 

This was not showing Darren anything other than what he wanted the most from him, what he was sure he couldn’t have.

 

Chris wrapped his arm around Darren’s shoulders and pulled him closer, loving the way Darren curled into him.  He felt awkward and off balance, sitting the way he was, but he didn’t care. Didn’t care at all. Darren’s mouth was on his, sucking at his lower lip, nibbling gently before chasing his tongue with his own, and he didn’t care about anything else.  Chris slid the hand that had been cupping Darren’s jaw up and finally, _finally_ threaded his fingers through his curls.  They were soft and silky against the oversensitive skin of his fingers and a shudder wracked his body. He gripped Darren’s hair and delved deeper into his mouth with a moan, tongue sliding hot and wet against Darren’s.

 

If he never got to do this again, then he was going to do it right.

 

A breathy noise escaped from Darren, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and Chris felt the hand that had been clasped around the back of his neck run up through his hair as the other gripped tightly at his hip.  He felt fingers flexing and dipping, just once, just a little, under the waist of his jeans, sliding against the heated skin of his hip before retreating.

  
Chris wanted to tell Darren that it was ok, that he could, that he _should_ , but the words stuck in his throat and all he could do was gasp for air, breaking away for a brief moment to take deep, shuddering breaths as Darren nosed along his hairline, peppering kisses down his cheek.

 

“Chris,” Darren whispered against his ear, breath hot against his skin, voice low and husky. He shuddered hard and took Darren’s mouth again in a hard kiss.

 

This was so far past every boundary Chris thought he’d had in place, but at that moment, nothing mattered but the feeling of Darren’s mouth on his and the taste of his tongue.

 

Suddenly Darren surged forward, almost growling deep in his throat, and tipped Chris onto his back on the cushions as he leaned over him.  The leg that had been bent underneath him unfolded along Darren’s hip, resting between him and the back of the couch. He felt open and exposed on his back with his legs spread wide around Darren.  It felt good.

 

Chris moaned from deep in his chest as Darren settled between his legs, kneeling with Chris’ ass almost in his lap.  The hand that had been clutching his hip slid up his side, over his shirt, to rest against his ribcage.  Chris could feel the heat of Darren’s hand radiating through him and he was certain Darren could hear the pounding of his heart, could feel the very rushing of his blood under his skin.  He felt feverish, out of control.

 

Chris wanted to tip his head back and expose his throat, let Darren mouth all along his neck, sucking and biting kisses into him, bringing up marks on his pale skin. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t show up to set in the morning with the shape of Darren’s mouth prominent on his throat, no matter how badly he wanted it.

 

He could feel Darren against his hip, almost hard, and he groaned into Darren’s mouth. His chest felt tight with the acknowledgement, the undeniable _proof_ of what Darren was feeling for him in that moment.  He shifted his hips against Darren, arching up into him, searching for touch and friction and _more_ and was rewarded with Darren moaning deep and broken, thrusting sharply against him once before pulling back, shifting his hips away, and finally breaking the kiss.

 

Chris whined at the loss, the sound high and almost keening, clutching at Darren’s shoulders, trying to pull him closer, but Darren just leaned his forehead against the side of Chris’ jaw, panting harshly into his neck.  Chris let his arms drape over Darren’s shoulders and pressed his palms to his shoulder blades, feeling the movements of skin and bone and muscle as Darren breathed.

 

Chris tried to slow his own breathing.  His blood was singing in his veins. His face felt hot and flushed; his lips swollen and tingling, and he was sure he looked utterly debauched – legs still splayed wide around Darren’s body, cock clearly hard, straining against his fly, hair a complete mess from Darren’s groping hands.

 

He tried to revel in the feeling, the thrumming of his nerves and the little sparks of pleasure that ignited whenever Darren shifted minutely against him, but Chris couldn’t stop the dread growing in his belly.  He waited, spread out beneath Darren, holding on to him perhaps too tightly, for some sort of panic to set in with Darren that would send him running, that would ruin their relationship forever. He was suddenly sure that Darren would realize that what they had done had gone way beyond _practicing_ , beyond some flimsy excuse of demonstrating a kiss.

 

Chris gripped Darren even tighter, pressing his leg against the length of Darren’s body, almost curling it around his hip.  He tipped his head and nuzzled into Darren’s hair, breathing in deep the scent of him.

 

 _If this is the last time_ , he thought _, then I’m holding on until he goes_.

 

“So,” Darren said finally, his breath still hot against Chris’ throat. His voice was so much deeper than Chris had ever heard it, and it slid like heated silk across his skin.

 

“So.” Chris shivered as Darren’s thumb brushed against his ribs rhythmically, probably unconsciously.

 

“That’s how you’d kiss Blaine, if it were up to you.”

 

Chris bit back the laughter that threatened to spill from him.  “Yeah.  You could say that.”

 

Darren hummed softly and took a slow, deep breath.  “I can see why that wouldn’t make it past the censors.”

 

Chris laughed then; he couldn’t help it.  Darren was impossible. 

 

“We,” he licked his lips.  “We missed some of the show.”

 

“I’ve seen it before.”

 

Chris wanted to stay there forever, held tight in Darren’s embrace, the scent of him all around.  But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do a lot of things he wanted.

 

“I should – I should get going.”  Chris said, although he wanted nothing less.  “We’ve both got early call times tomorrow.”

  
Darren grunted in agreement, but it took him a few moments to move. Slowly, Darren untangled himself from Chris, sitting up on his knees.  Chris immediately felt chilled without Darren’s warm body pressed flushed to him.

 

Chris looked up at Darren from where he was still spread out on the couch. Darren’s hair was a _mess_ , his lips red and swollen, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide. 

 

_I did that to him._

 

Chris couldn’t help but rake his eyes down Darren’s body.  His t-shirt was twisted around his torso and Chris could see his nipples, hard through the thin, clinging fabric.  And then, lower, where Darren was still half-hard, the shape of him obvious behind his sweatpants.

 

Chris couldn’t imagine how he looked to Darren just then, flushed and shivery.

 

“Come on,” Darren reached down, curled one hand behind Chris’ neck and slid the other behind his back, helping him sit up.

 

Together they climbed off the sofa.  Chris thought he should feel embarrassment or regret or any number of things as he found his shoes and his coat and slipped them both on, but he didn’t. He only felt bereft of the heat of Darren’s body on his and the taste of his tongue in his mouth.

 

“Chris?” Darren said, when they’d reached the front door.

 

“Yeah?” He turned to see Darren leaned against the wall next to the door, regarding him with a soft-eyed gaze. His pupils were still wide and his lips were still red and swollen.  Chris clenched his hands into fists to keep from reaching out and pulling him back for one last kiss.

 

“I, for one, think Kurt should kiss Blaine like that all the time.”

 

Chris grinned and shook his head fondly.  “I’ll talk to Ryan about it.”  And then he left, the door closing gently behind him.

 

In his car, still outside Darren’s place, Chris leaned his head back against the headrest and took a long, deep breath.  He could taste Darren on his tongue, could feel the ghost of his hand on his ribs.

 

_Oh what have you done?_


	9. Chapter 9

Thankfully, given how late his night had been, Chris had a later call time than usual the next day.  But that meant bringing Darren another breakfast was out of the question.

 

He thought about it though, when he was lazily getting ready for the day, roaming aimlessly around his house in sweatpants and a t-shirt for a few hours. He’d tried to find things to do to keep himself occupied until his call time, but nothing had been able to keep his attention for more than a few minutes at a time.  For a brief, foolish moment, Chris had contemplated throwing on some clothes and going down to the café to get himself some breakfast. If he happened to pick something up for Darren as well, then wasn’t that what friends did for each other?

 

In all honesty, Chris had wanted to sleep in that day, to enjoy the fact that he wasn’t getting up before the sun rose to bust his ass for eighteen straight hours on set. Sometimes it felt like he went weeks on less-than-enough sleep.  It was partly his own fault, he knew.  His inclination towards working long hours late into the night on his various projects was the sacrifice he made.  But his book was finished and close to getting released; his movie was made and premiering at the goddamn Tribeca Film Festival.  If there was ever a time to get a few extra hours of sleep, this was it.

 

But no. He’d woken up around 7:30am and found himself unable to get back to sleep, shifting restlessly against his too-warm sheets, turning this way and that, searching for a comfortable position and wholly incapable of finding one.

  
It might have had something do with the horribly, wonderfully vivid dream he’d had that night, and the aching erection it’d left him with. He’d woken gasping again, the heat and pressure of phantom hands ghosting over his body, lips on his, teasing and tasting, pulling words of encouragement and helpless moans from him. Before he’d been left with merely a fleeting awareness of who, _who_ it was touching him so exquisitely in his dreams, but there’d never been a face, just touch and heat and closeness.

 

This time, there was a face, a face so clear and close that there was no denying who it was that felt so good, so perfect in his dreams.

 

Of course it was Darren, had always been Darren, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit to it before. He’d always known. How could he not have known? But now his body – his hands, his lips, his hips – had a memory to hold on to, to cling to in the deep of the night when his defenses were down and his imagination was free to play the feeling of Darren, his weight, his heat, his taste, over and over again.

 

Chris knew now what it felt like to be pinned beneath the weight of Darren for reasons beyond filming scenes for the show.  He knew what it felt like to have Darren wrapped up in his arms, pressed against his body.  To have that mouth on his, lips and teeth and tongue and the heavy taste of him. He knew now how exquisite it was to feel Darren hard against him, for him, because of him.

 

  
So Chris had pulled himself from bed and stood in the shower until his erection subsided and he didn’t have to add the guilt of jerking off to thoughts of one of his best friends to the guilt of having wet dreams about him.

 

It had taken a while.

 

*******

 

Chris was still a little early for his call time when he arrived on set. He dropped his stuff off in his trailer and hated how his eyes automatically slid over to the door of Darren’s trailer.  It was closed and the blinds were drawn, which wasn’t a surprise considering the fact Darren was more than likely off rehearsing or filming his scenes with Matt. Chris had been banned (mostly jokingly, but not really) from bothering them during their scenes, but he was pretty sure he could still find a way to sneak into the auditorium and catcall from the back rows when they filmed those scenes.

 

They were scheduled to spend most of that day filming the Duran Duran mash-up in the choir room.  Chris both hated and loved choir room scenes.

 

He hated them because he spent so much of the time just sitting there, doing next to nothing while someone else got to perform or act out a scene.  It chaffed at the part of him that absolutely hated to sit still for too long.  If he could get away with it, he’d bring his laptop and get some work done during those long hours of just sitting in an uncomfortable chair, trying to look like Kurt was paying attention to what was going on around him.  As it was, he was guilty of answering emails on his phone during those scenes and had been reprimanded a number of times. Not that anything ever actually happened to him over it.

 

On the other hand, he loved watching his friends perform their numbers for the rest of the group.  It was a joy to watch them do what they all loved, to sing and dance and _perform_.  This is what they did, and as much as they enjoyed the acting part of the job, Chris was pretty sure most of them loved the performance of it all the most. And he’d be a liar if he said that it wasn’t a thrill to watch Darren perform.

  
The man lived and breathed music and it showed.  And it pained Chris that at this point in his career, in their careers, that he couldn’t exactly go to one of Darren’s live shows. The uproar it would cause just wasn’t worth it.  He wanted to though.  God how he wanted to be in the crowd watching, listening as Darren sang and played and sweated his little heart out.  But he watched the videos online, when he could, which was actually a little creepy when he thought about it.  But Darren never looked so much like _himself_ than when he was up on a poorly lit stage in a dingy bar with his piano and his guitar and his favorite songs.  He loved to see Darren in his element, and thought he sounded best during those live shows.  Though the extensive collection of ripped songs from Darren’s shows that Chris had in his iTunes _was_ awfully embarrassing and he hoped Darren never, ever saw them.

 

Chris was forever disappointed in himself that he hadn’t managed to make it out to New York to see Darren on Broadway.  It wasn’t that he hadn’t had the time or resources to go, he certainly had, but he’d just chickened out.  He’d been weak and nervous and he’d let himself, and Darren, down.

 

He’d almost gone a hundred times.  Almost. Darren had promised him tickets to any show he wanted, despite the fact that a majority of them were completely sold out.  And Chris had imagined himself in the theatre over and over again, sitting with Darren’s parents, his brother, watching Darren live out his dream in front of his very eyes. He’d wanted that so badly it had hurt deep in his chest every time he heard a review of the show or saw video of it.  He’d spent hours with his laptop, staring at flights to New York and almost picking one. But he knew what would have happened if he’d been seen at the show, without the rest of the Glee cast. The nature of their relationship was up for so much speculation already – he couldn’t add to it, not with the producers of the shows already breathing down his neck about it.

 

Chris had sent flowers though, to Darren’s dressing room, opening and closing night. And the text messages he’d received, of Darren’s big dumb smiling face holding the flowers, with his stupid purple Finch bowtie visible, had almost been enough.

  
Almost.

 

*******

 

Chris found Matt and Darren hanging out in the choir room, clearly waiting for filming to begin.

 

He had expected them to be doing last-minute rehearsals of the choreography for their mash-up, mapping out the steps they surely knew by heart at this point. But instead they were perched on a couple of chairs, facing each other, deep in conversation. They were sitting so close that their knees were almost touching.  Darren was leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped tightly in front of him as he listened intently to whatever it was that Matt was saying.

 

Chris stopped in the doorway, halfway into the room.  Darren was frowning a little, but if it was in serious concentration or something else, Chris couldn’t tell.  Matt was leaning forward in his chair as well, almost mirroring Darren, except he was gesturing with both of his hands as he illustrated whatever point he was trying to make.

 

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, he really didn’t, but Chris heard the words “him” and “regret” and “feel” before Matt caught sight of him in the doorway.

 

“Hey, Chris!” Matt exclaimed, smiling as broadly as ever, all traces of seriousness gone from his features.  “Look who finally decided to roll out of bed and join the rest of us hardworking, enterprising, early-rising motherfuckers.”

 

Chris snorted a laugh, coming fully into the room.  “Yes, you both seem to be working so very hard in here.”

  
He let his eyes slide over to Darren, who was slowly straightening up in his chair.  The look of concern and concentration was more gradual to disappear from his face. Chris’ heart caught in his throat when Darren’s eyes finally met his, honey brown, and the smile that usually appeared whenever they looked at each other didn’t come.

 

 _Oh god he regrets it._ Chris thought in a rush of panic and he struggled to keep a calm expression on his face. _He hates me and he regrets it. I knew this would happen._

 

“Hey lazybones,” Darren drawled, and slowly, finally, the smile curved his mouth. It wasn’t the huge one that quirked his jaw and made his eyes disappear, but a soft smile.  It was just a gentle turn of his lips and a softening of his eyes, but it helped to ease the tight clutch of Chris’ breath. It was a smile that held a secret Chris couldn’t decipher.  Not yet.

 

“Hey,” he replied, rather lamely, but it kept him from saying what he really wanted.

 

_Please tell me you don’t hate me. We have to be ok._

 

“So, are you ready to watch the two of us make utter fools of ourselves this afternoon?” Matt asked.  He reached one long leg out and kicked a chair towards Chris, who sat down in it.

  
“Oh, of course,” Chris said, falling effortlessly into their banter. This was easy. Whatever happened with Darren the night before, and whatever might happen with him in the future, at least he could rely on his conversational skills to distract him from the rest.

 

“I made sure my phone was charged so I could record the whole thing and watch it whenever I need a good laugh at your expense.”  It wasn’t entirely a lie.  He had all sorts of video saved on his phone and his laptop from years and years on set with some of the biggest goofballs on the planet. If he ever had a night where he needed a pick-me-up, Chris knew all he had to do was open up a couple of the videos and his stress would melt away in the face of his best friends acting silly and foolish.

 

Matt laughed, shaking his head.  “Oh, what are you going to do when I’m gone after this week?  You’re going to miss me terribly.”

 

A sharp pain, wholly unexpected, jabbed at Chris’ heart.  Matt wasn’t the only one who was going to be gone. He didn’t know what the next season of the show held for him.  After the clusterfuck of last summer, when all sorts of false and misleading information about a possible spinoff got leaked and media organizations latched on to anything and everything they could get their hands on, Ryan Murphy and the other producers had stopped talking to the cast about the fourth season of the show. 

Chris really kind of hated being left in the dark about his future. It was hard to plan out how much time he’d have for the projects he really wanted to work on when he didn’t even know if he’d have a full-time job come August.

 

Chris did know that he was going to be involved in the fourth season in some capacity, though he still wasn’t sure what that meant.  But if Kurt was supposed to be off in New York with Rachel, or even without her, then that meant he wouldn’t be filming with Darren.

 

He hadn’t really thought about it before, so caught up in filming the final episodes of the current season and with his book and movie.  But now it struck him like a physical blow, almost knocking him back a few steps.  If the next season went the way he thought it would, he wouldn’t see Darren every day. They wouldn’t share lunches or scenes or songs.  They wouldn’t share on-screen kisses.  He wouldn’t be able to bring Darren breakfast to make their early mornings a little easier.

 

It hadn’t really occurred to Chris what the next season would mean for his friendship, his relationship, with Darren.  Now he couldn’t imagine coming to work knowing that Darren wasn’t going to be there. Somehow, at some point, despite all of Chris’ attempts and struggles to keep him at a safe distance, Darren had become a vital, wholly ingrained part of his life.

 

For an insane, wonderful moment, Chris wished that everything was different.

 

He wished that he could go back and make Blaine a senior so that both he and Kurt would be graduating together.  Not for the sake of the characters, but so he and Darren could have the same kind of time commitment to the show for the next season, so that he wouldn’t be filming only a couple of scenes every couple of episodes (which is what Chris had been imagining will happen) while Darren was stuck with those excruciating 18-hour days every day for weeks at a time.

 

If they had a similar shooting schedule next season, then they’d have the same time off. They could spend time together, as each other rather than as Kurt and Blaine.  They could brainstorm Chris’ newest book or movie plots, or laugh over the ridiculous songs Darren made up on the spot that would never, ever make it to an album.  They could crash at each other’s places, eating a ridiculous amount of unhealthful take-out while giggling over all the things that were too insane to ever come to fruition.

 

They could work on actual projects together.  Chris had always thought he’d do all right as a fringe member of Starkid; he could work on the scripts while Darren penned the music.  Joey liked him well enough, he was sure the others would too.  And if Darren needed to go back to Chicago to be more involved with the group, well, Chris had quite enjoyed the city the few times he’d been there.  He was sure Darren would let him crash on the couch whenever he was there.

 

The possible future that flashed before Chris’ eyes was sweet and wonderful and it only hurt a little to think about.

 

And even if they weren’t _together_ , at least they’d be together.

 

Chris came back to himself with Matt’s bright, keen eyes on him.  The knowing look was back, and sometimes Chris really hated Matt for how he seemed to know everything all the time.

 

“Oh,” Chris said, struggling to remember the thread of the conversation. “I’m sure I’ll find ways to survive once you’re gone.”

 

Matt opened his mouth to say something more, but Mark and Cory suddenly came into the choir room, followed by the rest of the cast.  Matt cast a quick glance over at Darren, who was looking down at his hands, and then back to Chris.  He pressed his lips together in a thin line briefly before standing up.

 

“Let’s get this scene under way, yeah?  Make sure you film at least part of it!  I want to show Simon and the kids what Papa’s been up to this week.”

  
Chris nodded and shifted a few chairs over to sit next to Darren for the scene, where he belonged.  Darren offered him a quick smile before everything became familiarly chaotic as filming began.

 

_It’s going to be ok. I think._

 

***

 

Chris walked into his trailer, feet dragging with every step.  The choir room had been a long time filming that day; even if it had been an absolute joy to watch Matt and Darren play off of each other for hours on end.  It was clear how much they loved what they did, and how much they loved working with each other.  Chris hoped, for both of their sakes that they’d get to work together again in the future.

 

It was exhausting though, and Chris was ready to crash on the couch for a little bit before he was due for his next, and final scene of the day, only to find the couch already occupied.

 

Darren was on his couch, stretched out long on his stomach, arms curled under a pillow, toes tucked between the cushion and the armrest.

 

Chris stopped in the doorway of the trailer and stared at the sight laid out before him, barely remembering to close the door behind him.  He stared at the way Darren’s stupidly long eyelashes fanned against his cheek, the way his hair was starting to break free of the pomade around his temple to curl, just a little.  He stared at the way Darren’s lips were parted ever so slightly in sleep, dragging against the fabric of the pillow.  Chris tried not to think about the way those lips had felt against his, pressing hard and wet and insistent.

 

He let his eyes sweep down the length of Darren’s body – if he was going to ogle, then he was going to get a damn good look while he could.  He took in the strain of Darren’s biceps against the sleeves of his shirt, the long line of his back, the muscle definition apparent through the thin fabric.  He swept over the full curve of his ass, and down the length of his legs to where his bare feet were jammed under the cushion.  He suddenly remembered that Darren’s feet got cold when he slept and wondered why he didn’t just put some socks on.

 

“Chris.”

 

Chris let out a small squeak of surprise and jumped back a good foot, almost knocking into the door.  He looked back up to Darren’s face and found the other man regarding him sleepily, eyes heavy-lidded, barely open but still gleaming in the dim light.

 

“What are you doing here?”  Chris asked, trying to get his heart to stop pounding so loudly he was sure Darren could hear it. He glanced around, double-checking just to be sure he was, in fact, in the right place and hadn’t stumbled into someone else’s trailer.

 

“Harry and Chord took over my trailer,” Darren said, and he rubbed his cheek against the pillow, _hmmming_ a little. Chris felt his mouth go dry at the audible scratch of Darren’s 5 o’clock shadow against the fabric.

 

“And why did they do that?”

 

“Mario Kart,” Darren blinked slowly, once, and then his eyes closed completely. “Sorry about your couch.”

 

“It’s fine.” Chris rubbed his palms against his hips.  “I was just gonna – it’s fine.”  Chris glanced around the trailer.  There was a chair in the corner that he could probably get comfortable enough to sleep in.  He’d seen Dianna fall asleep there before.

 

“Nap,” Darren said.  The word came out long and languid, rolling loose off his tongue.

 

“What?”

 

“You came to nap.  Like me.”

 

“I, yeah, but it’s fine.  You look comfortable.”

 

“Mhmm,” Darren smacked his lips together.  “Your couch is better than mine.  Not fair.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’ve been here longer.  Next year, you get the comfier couch.”

 

Darren’s eyes opened at that and the look in them made Chris’ breath catch in his throat.

 

Chris prided himself on his vocabulary and his ability to get at the detail of things (he just wrote a book for fuck’s sake), but he couldn’t begin to describe what he saw in Darren’s eyes.  Where they’d been honey brown in the choir room, here they were a dark tea color. Sometimes Chris wanted to spend a day categorizing every color he’d seen Darren’s eyes turn.

 

“Get over here,” Darren said, low and soft, but his tone brooked no arguments.

 

Chris crossed the short distance between the door and couch without realizing he was moving, until he stood just at the edge of the couch.

 

“Come on,” Darren turned onto his side then, shifting loose and languid until he was pressed against the back of the couch.

 

“Huh?” Chris asked dumbly, reflexively, as if it wasn’t frighteningly obvious what Darren was asking for.

 

“Chris.”

 

Chris toed his shoes off.  He gingerly settled down on the couch in the little space left, his back to Darren’s front, tucking another pillow under his head as he tried to get comfortable.

 

 _Little spoon_ his brain supplied, rather unhelpfully.

 

Chris was careful to leave as much room between them as he could. The couch was decently-sized, but clearly not meant for two full-grown men, and Chris felt in imminent danger of falling right off the edge of it.

 

At least he did until he felt a strong arm wrap around his middle and drag him back until he was pressed snug all along the length of Darren’s body. He froze, feeling every muscle in his own body lock up.  His body remembered this, remembered being pressed flush to Darren’s for long, glorious, heart-stopping minutes.

 

He’d been crossing lines left and right with Darren the whole week, not to mention what he did, what he allowed himself to do the night before. But somehow, this was different. This was intimacy without want, without brain-addling lust.  This was heat and bodies and hands for no reason other than closeness. It was everything and nothing that he was comfortable with; everything that he wanted and was pretty sure he couldn’t have.

 

“What are you doing?”  Chris asked, trying to keep his breathing slow and even, when all he wanted to do was gulp for air.

  
“Don’t tell me you’re a terrible cuddler,” Darren said, his voice fond and teasing, breath ghosting warm across Chris’ cheek.

 

“I’m perfectly decent at cuddling,” Chris huffed.  “Just ask Lea and Chord, they can vouch for me.”

 

Chris couldn’t be sure, but he swore he heard Darren growl, just a little, and he felt the arm around his waist tighten even further.  It felt possessive and inappropriate and comforting all at once and in ways that Chris didn’t want to think about at all.  He closed his eyes and took another deep, slow breath, feeling Darren’s hand move on his body as his stomach expanded and contracted.

 

Slowly, and then all at once, Chris felt himself relaxing into the heat of Darren’s body, letting it soak into the very bones of him.  He could smell Darren all around him – his cologne, the sweet fragrance of the hair gel, the warm spice of his skin, and just a little of a strange, yet familiar scent that lingered on the clothes of their characters’ wardrobes.

 

He could get used to this, wrapped up in Darren’s arms, pulled tight against his broad chest.  Chris could feel Darren’s slow, steady heartbeat against his back, could feel it as Darren pressed his nose to the back of Chris’ head, lips brushing ever so slightly against his hair.  He hoped his own skin and hair smelled as good as he thought Darren’s did.

 

Darren shifted slightly, and Chris’ eyes snapped open when he felt Darren’s knees fit into the backs of his own, gently curving his body into an easier position. If they weren’t spooning before, they definitely were now.

 

“Darren,” Chris whispered.

 

“Shh, nap.” Darren’s forehead dropped to Chris’ neck, and his breath was hot and a little damp against Chris’ skin. “Naps are good.”

 

Chris couldn’t bring himself to argue with that.  “Don’t drool on me.”  
  
“Would never.”

 

“Huh-uh, just remember that I--”

 

“Shh, this is naptime.”  Darren squeezed him a little, hand broad and hot against his stomach.  “No talking.”

 

Chris closed his eyes again and let the steady thump of Darren’s heart beating lull him to sleep, willing, for once, to not think about anything else at all.


	10. Chapter 10

Darren really did not want to get up and go to work the next morning.  He wanted to sleep in and then spend the day in his boxers – unshowered, unshaven – kicking himself over what a stupid fucking idiot he was.

 

He hadn’t meant to force-cuddle Chris into a naptime, but he’d been so tired from the filming, and so emotionally drained from the night before, that he just couldn’t deal with Harry and Chord battling for supremacy in Mario Kart that day. So he’d gone to Chris’ trailer where he knew that it’d at least be quiet, only to find it empty, but the door unlocked. He’d let himself in, and helped himself to Chris’ unfairly comfortable couch.  It had only taken minutes for him to fall asleep.

 

Darren had every intention of leaving when Chris showed up, but his brain, not-quite-awake and willing to ask for things that he normally wouldn’t when fully alert, had taken over and demanded that Chris join him for a nap.

 

 _A fucking nap you are a moron_.

 

But it had felt wonderful, to be pressed all along the length of Chris’ back, curved around him, miles and miles of bone and muscle and heat.  To have him snug and safe in his arms. To have the scent of Chris’ shampoo and skin pulling deep into his lungs.  It had felt so damn right.

 

And he’d woken with Chris still in his arms, snuffling softly in his sleep, warm and loose and wonderful.  He’d wanted to drop a kiss on the curve of Chris’ neck, but somehow that’d felt like crossing a line.  It had felt like something lovers do, and they weren’t.  He’d nosed along Chris’ hairline though, just for a brief moment, before he’d dropped his face back down to the juncture of Chris’ neck and shoulder and let himself slip back into sleep.

 

Darren shook his head, clearing the memory, and forced himself to get up and dressed.

 

His stomach rumbled and it occurred to him that there would be no special delivery of breakfast that morning from Chris.  In fact, Chris wouldn’t even be on set that day. He and just about everyone else were scheduled to be off at the theme park for the entire day filming for Senior Ditch Day.  The thought made Darren’s gut clench uncomfortably.

 

It was going to be weird spending the day on set without Chris, without the rest of the cast.  It was pretty much just going to be him and Matt while everyone else was off running around like idiots at the theme park.  And while he absolutely adored every moment he got to spend with Matt, he couldn’t help the little spike of jealousy that everyone else would be riding roller coasters while he spent the day blocking out shots and filming the same scene over and over.

 

Darren tried not to think about how this day was just going to be a precursor for next year, when he would be stuck filming every day and Chris wouldn’t. When Chris might never be on set at the same time he was.  He tried not to think about how he would be alone without his best friend.

 

Darren found himself pulling up in front of his favorite little café without making the conscious decision to go there.

 

Ella was at the counter when he walked in, leaning on her elbows and reading the newspaper. She glanced up at him when he approached the counter and her eyebrow quirked.

 

“Oh,” Ella said, voice full of amusement.  “It’s your turn this time.”

 

“What? My turn?”

 

“To pick up breakfast.” She straightened up, folding the paper neatly. “Your friend was in the last couple of mornings, getting stuff to go for the two of you.  I expected to see him again, but I haven’t the last two days.”  Ella tilted her head and regarded Darren inquiringly.  “Everything ok?”

 

Darren swallowed down the unexpected and confusing rush of emotion.  It felt like, somehow, against all impossibility, that she knew what had happened between him and Chris the other night.

 

“Yeah,” Darren nodded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.  “Everything’s ok.  He’s just had a different schedule the last couple of days. I’m sure things will get back on track soon enough.”

 

“Good. I like him.”

 

“I do too.”

 

“Two of the usual then?”  Ella started to move down the counter to start his order, snapping on gloves with practiced efficiency.

 

“Not today,” Darren clarified. “Just the one.  And coffee.  It’s just me today.”

 

Ella paused and regarded him with unnervingly knowing eyes.  “You’re sure everything’s ok?”

 

“Positive.” Darren felt his cheeks pinking under her scrutiny and wondered if she was friends with Matt Bomer and if they taught a class together on how to see right into someone’s soul.

 

“As long as you’re sure.  Give me a second and I’ll get you on your way.”

 

Darren ate his breakfast in the car, unwilling to sit around alone on set or in his trailer with his food when so quickly he’d gotten used to sharing this meal with Chris. It felt weird, felt wrong, all of a sudden, to have his coffee and sandwich without the comforting presence of Chris by his side, pressed against his shoulder.  To hear Chris chewing, which should have been disgusting and really wasn’t.

 

He ate quickly, and wondered why nothing tasted as good as it had earlier in the week.

 

_You really are an idiot, aren’t you?_

  
Darren was just wadding up his garbage to throw away when a knock on his window startled him enough to drop everything to the floor mats.

 

Matt was standing outside of his car, an amused expression on his entirely too handsome face.  Darren sighed and rolled his eyes as he got out of the car.

 

“Morning, Matt.”

 

“You looked lonely in there,” Matt said, automatically reaching out to pull Darren into a welcoming hug.  “Everything ok, man?”

 

Darren let himself relax into Matt’s embrace.  It was impossible not to – not with the way Matt’s arms wrapped all the way around him and his broad hand rubbed comforting circles against his back.  A hug from Matt was somewhere between a hug from a brother and a father, with a bit of boa constrictor thrown in – all long arms and tight grip.  A full body experience to be sure.

 

“So, we should finish our conversation,” said Matt, when he finally let Darren go and they began to walk the short distance to set.  


 

“Which one?” Darren asked, feigning ignorance even as his heart dropped to his shoes and his palms began to sweat.

 

“You know which one, don’t play games with me.  I have three kids; my patience for that kind of bullshit is long tapped out.” Matt led them over to the empty craft service area and sat down at one of the tables.  He’d thought about going to his borrowed trailer, the one reserved for guest stars, but he thought that some fresh air would do them good.  This area of set was always devoid of anyone so early in the morning, which was a blessing because this was not a conversation either of them wanted overheard.  And besides, they were going to be cooped up inside the rest of the day; Matt wanted to spend at least a few minutes in the early morning sunshine.

 

“Come on,” Matt patted the bench with his hand.  “I’m not letting you wiggle out of this so don’t bother trying. You’ll just exhaust yourself. Sit with me.  Talk to me.”

 

Darren sighed, knowing that there was no way he’d escape this day without talking to Matt, and so he sat down heavily next to him.  He rubbed his temple and then swiped his damp palms on his thighs. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable at all, shifting restlessly on the bench.

 

“Before Chris showed up, you were telling me that the two of you kissed, off screen.” Matt prompted, when Darren didn’t speak for a long moment.  He made a _go on_ gesture and cocked his eyebrow at Darren.

 

“I asked him,” Darren finally began, clearing his suddenly dry throat. He wished he still had some coffee left to wet his lips.  “I told him to kiss me.  It kind of came out of nowhere. He was over at my place and we were watching TV and he was on the couch with me.  Just normal stuff, like we’ve done a hundred times before. And I was thinking about the show and the characters and how fucking _chaste_ everything is between us.  I mean, we film this stuff and it’s – it gets hot and intense sometimes.” Darren scrubbed his hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

 

Matt pressed his fingers to his lips to stop his smile.

 

 _These boys are so fucking dense_.

 

“But they never show that stuff,” Darren continued.  “It’s always just a tiny little peck of a kiss or us staring into each other’s eyes or something, when they show anything at all. Not that I don’t like staring into Chris’ eyes.  I mean, yeah. Most of the time they cut it from the episode anyway.  And suddenly I just blurted out, like an absolute moron, that we should kiss more. On the show.”

 

“And what did he say to that?”

 

“He choked on his drink.”  Darren grinned a little at the memory.

 

“I imagine he did.”

 

“And he made this comment, about how he’d kiss me, kiss Blaine, differently if he could, if we weren’t so constrained by the network, which is such horseshit, by the way. And then I wanted to know. I wanted to know how different it would be, what he would do, how it would feel.  How could it really be that different?  A kiss is a kiss, right?  How could it feel any different?”  Darren threw his hands up in the air, fingers splayed.

 

Matt resisted the startlingly strong urge to reach out and cuff Darren upside the head. He didn’t know how either Chris or Darren made it through the day being as ridiculously idiotic as they both apparently were.  It would be adorable if it weren’t so damn infuriating.

 

“I don’t even know, Matt.  I just wanted to know, I had to know, if he was kissing me or Blaine or both or fuck, man. I don’t always know where my head’s at around him.  He – he makes me feel unprofessional.  I’ve done kissing scenes before, okay?  I know how they work.  I can separate life from work just fine, but fuck.  I’ve never – fuck, Matt.”  Darren glanced around nervously, double-checking that they were still alone.

 

“I’ve never wanted to do to those other people what I want to do to Chris whenever we’re close.  It’s insane. And I don’t understand it. We’re friends. We’re such good friends. And maybe I’ve always been attracted to him.  I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now.” Darren wanted to twist the ring on his finger, but he wasn’t wearing it.  He touched the base of his right ring finger though, and thought about the cool metal.

 

“My brain shorted-out or something because suddenly I was telling him to show me. To fucking show me. Who says shit like that?”

 

“You do, apparently.”

 

“And he asked me if it was ok.  I mean, it was my fucking idea and he asked _me_ if it was ok, and I don’t think to ask him the same thing.  I didn’t even think, I just wanted. Because I’m an asshole.” Darren rubbed his face with both hands. His head was starting to hurt, a dull ache just behind his eyes.  There was a reason he hadn’t wanted to have this conversation.

 

“Hey, come on, man.”  Matt finally reached out then and placed a comforting hand on Darren’s shoulder. The muscle was locked up tight beneath his palm.  “You don’t think anyone could possibly make someone like Chris do something he didn’t want to do, do you?”

 

Darren shook his head.  “No. No, you’re right. He’d never, he’s too,” Darren growled a little in frustration at his inability to voice just what he thought of Chris. There weren’t enough letters in the alphabet to even begin.  “No.”

 

 _He wanted it.  He had to want it too_.

 

“Ok then,” Matt squeezed Darren’s shoulder, shaking him gently, trying to get him to relax a little.  “So let’s stop with this unnecessary guilt over something that you were both a part of.”

 

“Yeah, ok. You’re not.  You’re always fucking right.”  Darren rubbed at his cheeks again.  “It was a good kiss though.  It was a lot of kiss.  But I – I had to, I was going to,” Darren stopped with his hands covering his face for a long moment, just breathing deep and slow. His heart was pounding, hard and fast in his chest.  His lips tingled, remembering the way Chris nipped and sucked at them, how hot his tongue was in his mouth.  His hips ached to feel Chris stretched out beneath him again, panting and writhing and perfect.

 

“I was going to do something I was pretty sure we’d both regret.  So I stopped.  God it was hard to stop.”

 

Matt didn’t think now was the moment for a pun, so he stayed quiet, rubbing what he hoped were comforting circles on Darren’s tense back.

 

“But then he lied.  He lied to me, Matt. He said he had to be on set early like I did.  You saw when he showed up yesterday.  That was just his excuse for leaving.  He didn’t have an early call time.  He just wanted to leave.  To get away from me.” Darren hated how his throat closed up just then, hated the hot burn in his eyes that meant tears were coming any minute.  He looked down, clasping his hands together.

 

Matt wanted nothing more than to pull Darren into a hug.  The poor guy was lost and confused over something that should be so very easy, but wasn’t.

 

“Darren,” Matt began, trying to gather his thoughts so he phrased his next question correctly.

 

“When you look at Chris, what do you see?”

 

“What?” Darren lifted his head from where he’d been staring at his twisting, nervous hands.  “I see Chris. Who else would I see?” His brow furrowed in confusion.

 

“No,” Matt smiled encouragingly.  “What do you _see_?  Do you see just a man you’re attracted to? And don’t even begin to tell me you’re not wildly attracted to him.  Or do you see _him_? All of him.”

 

Darren closed his eyes, and he saw Chris.

 

He saw his smile - the way sometimes he showed his teeth and his nose scrunched up and his eyes disappeared.  How sometimes it was just the barest quirk of his lips that still somehow managed to convey his amusement and fondness.  Chris’ face was so expressive; Darren imagined he could spend hours just staring at every twitch and subtle movement of that face.

 

Darren saw Chris’ eyes; the way he could never figure out what color to call them, no matter how often he tried.  Darren remembered the day he’d spent with a giant box of crayons trying to match the color to finally give it a name and couldn’t.

 

He saw his body - the ever-widening breadth of Chris’ shoulders, the length of his legs, the leanness of his thighs.  Darren thought of the strength of Chris’ arms, hidden so often by his long sleeves.  He saw the long curve of his neck and the graceful sweep of his spine.  How Chris’ hands were so much bigger and stronger than anyone ever expected.  How they felt clasped in his, or clutching at his body.

 

He thought of Chris’ life, his accomplishments, his insane talent and drive. How all the crazy beautiful wonderful facets of his personality coalesced into the person that he was, the person that Darren was so fucking astonished and humbled to consider a friend.

 

And he thought about Chris’ future, how the world seemed to be opening up for Chris in every way possible.

 

“It’s him,” Darren said finally, rubbing his hand through his hair again. “Just him.  Everything.  All that he is.”

 

Matt smiled and let out a relieved breath.  Maybe something could be done about this after all.  He hoped his next question wouldn’t send Darren running for the hills.

 

“Have you had sex with a man before?” Matt asked, and Darren’s head snapped around. His eyes were wide and startled, clearly taken aback, and Matt almost laughed in his face.

 

“Wow, ok. You’re blunt.” Darren wished he’d known that morning that this conversation would happen like this so he could have traded his coffee for vodka.

 

“And you’re an excellent dissembler.”  Matt leaned an elbow on the table and propped his chin on his fist. “I have to be blunt with you to make sure you answer the fucking question.  Well?”

 

“No, I…no. Not all the way. But I’ve, I’ve done other stuff with guys before.”  Darren thought about those kisses – wet, sloppy wonderful kisses with guys he was completely comfortable with.  And the other times, when there had been hands and mouths and incredible heat and taste and touch.  How it had been wholly familiar and astoundingly new all at once.  How afterwards he had never felt like he’d done anything he couldn’t take back, he’d never wanted to take any of it back. He’d enjoyed himself thoroughly; the gender of the person was irrelevant.

 

“Were you drunk?”

  
  
“A couple of times.  Not, uh, blackout can’t remember it the next morning where are my pants drunk. Just buzzed.  But not always, not even usually.  I don’t need to be drunk to – to want to do that with guys.” Darren couldn’t seem to stop running his hands through his hair.  He was sure at this point he was reaching mad scientist levels of frizz.

 

“Look, I’m not trying to hide who I am.  People are complicated.  I’m complicated and labels and definitions are pointless and useless and constricting and really it’s all about religious and sexual intolerance and there’s no way I’m going to ascribe to that kind of outdated and harmful bullshit and the media can say whatever they want about me because none of it matters in the end. It’s all about people and how they--”

 

“Whoa, Darren, calm down.” Matt interrupted, and he laughed a little at how quickly Darren riled himself up over this.  He rubbed soothingly at Darren’s arm as Darren took a couple of slow, calming breaths.

 

“I know who I am,” said Darren, voice rising and full of conviction. “And I know what I like.”

 

“You like him.”

 

“Of course I like him!  This whole thing wouldn’t be such a fucking mess if I didn’t like him.  If I just wanted him that would be one thing, but I, fuck man.  I don’t know.”

 

“Do you want to?”

 

“What?”

 

“Have sex with a man.”

  
“I,” Darren licked at his dry lips.  If there was ever a time to be honest with himself, this was it. “No. Not with a _man_ , but with _him_.”

 

Matt smiled and finally pulled Darren into another hug.  It was awkward given the way they were sitting, but he knew Darren needed it, and honestly, so did he.  These boys were putting him through hell and he’d only just met them.

 

“All right then,” Matt whispered into Darren’s hair.

 

“I don’t know what he wants though,” Darren said, clutching tightly to Matt. “He’s been so distant lately, and we’re finally getting back to normal and now I’m going to fuck it all up and--”

 

“Shhh, just stop.”  Matt squeezed the back of Darren’s neck a little.  “You’re just going to have to show him, aren’t you?  How things could be.  How things should be.”

 

Darren nodded.

 

_How they should be._


	11. Chapter 11

It took Chris a good couple of days to realize that something was different with Darren.

  
Chris had assumed at first that it was some sort of post-Matt coping mechanism. Chris figured the change in Darren’s demeanor was his way of dealing with the fact that his new big brother wasn’t going to be around anymore.  Darren was still upset about the loss of his Warblers brothers, if the stolen Dalton blazer and tie hanging proud and prominent in his closet were anything to go by; Chris hoped Darren would survive this loss too.  Matt was a truly exceptional person.

 

Matt had filmed his last scene for Glee the other morning and Darren actually had tears in his eyes when he’d hugged the older man goodbye.  Chris had watched as Matt gripped Darren tight to him and whispered something into his ear that had Darren closing his eyes tightly and nodding in agreement.

 

Matt had finally let go of Darren, ruffling his hair as Darren wiped at his eyes. Matt rolled his eyes fondly at him.

 

“Stop being a baby,” he’d said, loud enough, this time, to be heard by Chris. “You know you’re coming over for dinner tomorrow night.  You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

 

Darren finally grinned and stepped back from Matt a bit. The rest of the cast had said their goodbyes to Matt already and had scattered off to get back to filming.

 

“I promised you babysitting, didn’t I?”

 

“You bet your ass you did.  You’re not wiggling out of that.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”  Darren’s eyes had flickered over to Chris and then back to Matt, before he’d stepped away further. It was as if he didn’t want to be in the way, but didn’t want to leave.

 

“Come on,” Matt told Chris, jerking his head.  “Get over here.”

  
Chris squeaked a little when Matt pulled him bodily into a bone-crushing hug. He should have thought that after a solid week of Matt’s special brand of full-body hugs that he’d be used to them by now.  He wasn’t.

  
“I think I’ll miss you most of all,” Matt had said, rubbing at his back with slow, soothing strokes.  Chris melted into the hug, nuzzling his cheek against Matt’s strong shoulder.

 

“How am I the Scarecrow?” Chris had asked.  “That doesn’t make sense.  I’ve got quite the brain, as well you know.”

  
“Be brave, Christopher,” Matt had whispered into his ear then, voice low, but full of conviction.  “You need to be brave enough for the both of you.”

  
Chris had swallowed down the rush of emotion that caught him off-guard, constricting his throat almost painfully.

 

He’d wanted to deny it, to say that he _was_ brave, but he knew that to be a lie.  He knew the truth.  He knew that he was scared shitless of whatever it was, or wasn’t, that was growing between him and Darren and that given the opportunity, he’d bury his head in the sand and wait until the whole thing fell apart and faded into painful, lasting memory.

  
But he didn’t want that.  Not at all.  He knew what he truly wanted, even if it was taking time, and courage, to admit and to act on.

 

 _Darren_.

 

So Chris had nodded against Matt’s shoulder.  “I – I’ll try.  For him.”

 

“Do it for you,” Matt countered.  “This can’t just be for one of you, it has to be for both.”

 

“Ok. Ok.”  Chris finally pulled away.  He hadn’t been crying, but he could feel the burn of unshed tears.

 

“The two of you are so fucking weepy,” Matt had joked.  “I’ll see you in a week or so for the play.  Like I told Darren – you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

 

And the, Matt was gone, getting into his car and driving out of the Fox Studios lot. Chris watched until Matt was long out of sight before he turned back around, trying to compose himself enough to handle work for the rest of the day.

 

Darren was still there, waiting for him with a knowing look on his face. He had reached a hand out to Chris, and Chris took it, letting his fingers tangle easily with Darren’s as they’d walked back to set, only letting go when they came within view of other people.

 

*******

Chris should have realized the impromptu hand-holding was the first clue that maybe it wasn’t just about Matt.

 

Darren had always been a physical person – quick to throw an arm around someone’s shoulders or plant a kiss on a cheek.  Darren had accused Chris of being the flirt of the cast, and maybe he was, but so was Darren.  He was the kind of person to stand right in your personal space and think nothing of it; he was the kind of person to take a drink from your glass without asking.  But the last couple of days since Matt left were different, were _more_.  This was above and beyond what Chris was used to, especially considering the tense and strained last few months of their relationship.

  
Darren was sitting so close to him these days, pressed snug against his side, almost in his lap, even when there was more than enough space for a little elbow-room between them.  He even scooted Blaine’s chair closer to Kurt’s in the choir room before filming began every day, moving it back to where he wanted it even after the crew shifted the chairs apart every time the shot was reset.

 

And then there was the touching.  Over the last year and a half, Chris had grown used to (or at least tried to get used to) how tactile Darren could be.  But they’d both always held back from touching each other as much as they did with other people; Chris never hesitated to hold Dianna’s hand.  But snuggling under Darren’s arm during a cast movie night? Things were complicated between he and Darren in ways that they just weren’t with the rest of the cast. The last few days, however, that had changed dramatically.

 

They were filming the Saturday Night Live and Whitney Houston tribute episodes almost concurrently, trying to make up for how long the Michael Jackson episode had taken to film.  And while the Kurt and Blaine scenes from the Whitney tribute were emotionally draining, their spare few moments together for the disco episode were their own kind of trying.

 

When they’d filmed the couples dance number for “More Than a Woman,” Darren had been pressed so close to him the whole time, closer than he needed to be, closer than he had been during the dance rehearsals earlier in the week, but that had been when Matt was still around.  Chris couldn’t imagine why Matt’s departure would have anything to do with Darren’s sudden closeness, not that he was complaining about the press of Darren’s body to his, the scent of his cologne and his shampoo, the touch of his skin, dance-warm and perfect.

 

Chris remembered their fight from the other week, their only true fight, about how Darren had noticed that Chris was suddenly keeping his distance from him, and how much he _hated_ it.  He remembered how he’d promised Darren that he’d be himself around him, and only himself.  He remembered the way he’d been working so damn hard at holding himself back from Darren, to keep him at a safe distance, and now – now it was like Darren was doing everything he could to bridge that gap as quickly as possible. It was like he’d been given some sort of permission and was running wild with it.

 

And Chris remembered the way Darren’s hands had lingered during the dances, slow to let go of his waist or his hands when the song ended.  The way Darren had stroked a firm hand down Chris’ back when he’d modeled the ridiculous 70s outfit for him, turning a slow circle in front of him.  The thin, shiny material had done nothing to block the heat from Darren’s palm, and the pleasure of it, radiating between his shoulder blades, sent a shiver through Chris’ body that Darren had surely felt.

 

It thrilled Chris, and it scared him, how much he wanted it.  But it hurt too much to try and keep himself apart from Darren any longer – to try and insert some forced sense of professionalism that just didn’t exist.  Sure, he was close with the rest of the cast, close as family, but it was different with Darren.

 

It had always been different with Darren.

*******

 

Chris had just taken off his jacket and thrown it onto a chair when there was a familiar knock on his trailer door.  Chris called out that the door was open, knowing from the three quick raps that it was Darren on the other side.

 

“Hey, morning. I brought breakfast again!” Chris looked up and flashed a quick grin at Darren before moving back to the table where he’d set the paper bag down.  “Awfully easy habit to get into, isn’t it?  I think Ella knows how she reels people in. I was going to come find you, but here you are.”

 

“Here I am.” Darren locked the door to the trailer with a quiet _click_.

 

“I know you’re missing Matt something fierce so I thought maybe some egg white and avocado might help.  I know I should branch out, try something else from there, but why bother when this is so damn good? Plus I got you an extra giant coffee – cream and vanilla, just the way you like it.”

 

Darren closed the blinds, casting the trailer into sharp shadows, before taking a few steps towards Chris.  He froze in the act of taking their breakfast out of the bag when the room suddenly went dim.

 

Chris looked up at Darren.  The fire in Darren’s eyes, wholly unexpected, took Chris’ breath away and sent his pulse racing.

 

“Darren?”

 

Darren’s eyes were dark on his, golden in the low light of the trailer. It was a look Chris had never seen from Darren before, not when Darren had tipped him onto his back on his couch and surged between his thighs, kissing him long and deep and breathless. Not even when he was deep into character as Blaine, looking at Kurt like he was sexiest thing he’d ever seen and would ever see.

 

This look was heated and predatory, and it was all Darren.  Not a trace of Blaine to be seen.  Chris felt his heart pounding in his throat as Darren stalked towards him, footsteps silent, eyes intent.

 

Chris retreated instinctually until his back hit the wall of the trailer. Darren crowded in close, stepping between Chris’ feet.  Chris gasped at the sudden nearness of him, at the heat already radiating off Darren’s body.  He wanted to ask what was going on, why Darren was doing it, _what_ Darren was doing, but the words stuck fast in his throat. His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms.

 

Darren lifted a hand, slow and careful, and ran the tips of his fingers down Chris’ cheek, just brushing the corner of his mouth, thumbing along his jaw. Chris swallowed and his skin burned where Darren had touched him.

 

“Darren.” Chris reached out then and clutched at Darren’s biceps, hands squeezing reflexively at the muscle. Arousal flared hot and fast in his stomach, radiating out all along his skin.

 

“Hmmm.”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Shh.” Darren leaned in close, pressing his nose to the soft indentation where Chris’ jaw met his ear. He breathed in deep. “I’m showing you.” He dropped a kiss to the warm skin there, letting his lips linger, and smiled when he heard a quick, sharp intake of breath.

 

“Showing me what?” Chris’ voice was high and breathless and his head turned to the side.

 

“Shh.” Darren grinned against Chris’ throat, pressing quick, dry kisses to the fluttering pulse point.  “And people say _I_ talk too much.”  He pushed in closer, settling his hips flush to Chris’ and enjoying the choked gasp that came from Chris at the contact.

  
Darren kissed his way up the warm, smooth column of Chris’ neck, loving the way Chris’ head tipped back for him, exposing all that pale skin for his mouth. He tasted Chris’ soap and underneath that, the salt of his skin.  He wanted to bite down, sink his teeth in and never let go. But he couldn’t – couldn’t leave all the marks he wanted when they were filming so soon.  Darren settled for nipping at the line of Chris’ jaw before finally capturing his mouth in a kiss.

 

Darren traced the seam of Chris’ lips with the tip of his tongue, quick and teasing, before pulling his bottom lip between his own, sucking lightly. Chris groaned, low and needy, and his mouth fell open.  Darren surged inside immediately, his tongue sliding slickly along Chris’ and a tremor wracked his body at the heat and taste of Chris.

 

Chris’ mouth was hot and wet, and the taste of him, dark and rich and heady, made Darren weak. It was so familiar - the taste, the feel of his lips, and yet it wasn’t.  Not at all.  Not like this.  He grasped Chris’ face with both hands, fingers winding deep into his hair, holding him where he wanted him, angling his head just right.  He wanted to bite and to take and to _own_. Hunger flooded through him and Darren tried to remember how to breathe, and almost couldn’t, not with the way Chris’ tongue slid along his, the way his teeth caught at his upper lip, nipping gently before sucking it between his own lips.

 

Darren shuddered when Chris surged against him, changing the angle of their kiss, licking deeper in his mouth, along his teeth.  He could feel Chris’ fingers digging into his biceps and the press of Chris’ cock against his own, already half-hard and obvious behind his fly. Darren moaned at the feel of it, at the _proof_ of what Chris wanted too. He twisted his hips a little, thrusting slow against Chris, and the moan that dragged out of Chris’ throat sent chills all down Darren’s back.

 

Darren pulled away, just enough to see Chris.  He wanted to _see_. Chris’ eyes were closed; lashes fanned out, cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and chest heaving as he gulped in air. He looked gorgeous, close to wrecked, and Darren couldn’t stop staring at his lips, red and swollen so quickly.

 

“Darren, I,” Chris panted, eyes fluttering open just a bit, and Darren could see how blown his pupils already were, how dark his irises were.

 

Darren shook his head and leaned back in, finding Chris’ mouth in a deep kiss and cutting off anything else he could say.  If he started talking, they might stop kissing, and that was the last thing Darren wanted, not when it had taken so long and so much to get here.

 

Chris let go of his grip on Darren’s arms and he wound his own around Darren’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer as his fingers tangled in Darren’s curls. He spread his thighs and shuddered hard when Darren rocked his hips into his, thrusting slow and easy. Heat flared in his belly with every shift of Darren’s cock against his own.

 

They’d kissed before - a hundred times and more, for the show and once on a stage. And on Darren’s couch, stretched out against each other, hot and urgent and confusing.  Chris knew the taste and shape of Darren’s mouth, his lips, better than he knew anyone else’s.  But this, this felt different.  This was kissing for the sake of kissing, for no other reason than that – just to feel lips and tongues and hands and heat.  This was Darren coming to him, _wanting_ him without a script, and without a flimsy excuse. This felt _real_.  And even if he didn’t know the impetus for this, Chris was going to take it, every second of it until it was gone.

 

Chris moaned from deep in his throat when he felt fingers at his fly, popping the button and sliding down the zip with practiced ease.  Fingers brushed against his lower belly, warm against his tender skin, sending frissons of pleasure through his body.

  
Darren broke away from the kiss, leaning his forehead against Chris’ jaw, panting harshly.  “Tell me this is ok.” He nuzzled at Chris’ cheek before licking softly at his cheekbone, feeling the slight rasp of stubble against his tongue.  The thought of Chris not shaving that morning made his stomach clench.

 

“It’s ok,” Chris answered, barely above a whisper.

 

“Tell me _this_ is ok.”  Darren lifted his hand to his mouth, licking wetly at his palm.

 

Chris shivered, mouth dropping open as he watched Darren’s tongue lave at his own palm. Heat twisted in his belly. He was hard, and the sight of Darren’s tongue, and what it meant, made his cock throb almost painfully.

 

“Oh god--”

 

“Say yes.” Darren ducked back in and pressed a quick, urgent kiss to Chris’ mouth before dragging his lips down his neck. “You have to say _yes_.”

 

“Yes god fuck. Of course, Darren, _yes_.” Chris snapped his jaw shut to cut off his babbling.  He didn’t know why _now_ , and he didn’t care. Darren wanted him, wanted to _touch_ him, and fuck if he was going to stop him.

 

“Thank you,” Darren murmured against his throat, smiling a little, before sliding his hand past the waistband of Chris’ boxer-briefs.  He captured Chris’ lips in a kiss just as he closed his hand around his cock.

 

Chris’ hips jerked forward uncontrollably and he moaned low and aching into Darren’s mouth when Darren grasped his cock in a warm, firm hand – his palm damp from his own spit.  Chris almost didn’t need the extra lubrication with the way his cock was leaking precome, leaving a wet spot in his underwear and a trail of slick fluid down his shaft.

 

Darren’s hand was strong and sure around him, no sense of hesitation or nerves. His fingers traced the delicate veins of him, his thumb easily finding the thickest one running along the underside of his shaft.  Chris moaned brokenly when Darren dragged his thumb along that vein, with just enough pressure to make Chris’ toes curl and his spine curve sharply forward.

 

He grasped weakly at Darren’s forearm, feeling the muscles and tendons flex as Darren jerked him slow and steady, long strokes up the shaft, swiping a thumb over the head to gather more wetness before spreading it down the length of him. Images of Darren jerking himself off like this flashed behind Chris’ eyes.  Darren spread out against his sheets, tugging at his own hair as he bit his lip against his cries and pumped himself into his fist.

 

Chris shuddered, breathing hard and fast.  He wasn’t going to last.  He couldn’t last, not with the perfect heat and pressure of Darren’s hand pumping his cock and the taste of him in his mouth, licking at his teeth, sliding against his tongue.  Chris’ lips felt swollen, bruised, but he could not stop kissing Darren.

 

“Chris,” Darren groaned against Chris’ lips, unwilling to pull away.  Chris was hot and heavy in his hand, and Darren ached to _know_.  To know what it was like to have Chris lose control because of him, to come because of him.  He thrust slowly against Chris’ thigh, in time with the slide of his hand up Chris’ cock, and the friction against his own erection made his head swim. He wanted to take them both to the floor, to wrestle his own pants off and rut against Chris until they both came, sweaty and messy and perfect.

 

He was going to come.  Chris could feel it building in the pit of his stomach, spreading low and hot through his hips. Darren was going to make him come, pressed against the wall of his trailer, pants shoved as far down his thighs as they’d go.  He moaned at the thought of Darren taking him right then and there, hands under his thighs, lifting him up against the wall as he thrust inside.  Chris rocked up into Darren’s grip a half a dozen more times before he came, crying out sharply, hips thrusting erratically as he spasmed, spilling all over Darren’s fist and his own belly.

 

“Darren,” Chris groaned, shivering in the aftershocks, and Darren quieted him with a hard kiss, tongue thrusting deep, before pulling away, gasping for air.

 

He felt Darren thrust against his thigh once, twice more before he shuddered hard against him, groaning deep and loud, and then he sagged, boneless against his body. Chris welcomed the weight of him.  He lifted his arms and wound them around Darren’s shoulders, holding him close as his heartbeat slowed and his breathing calmed.  He could feel Darren’s heart pounding against his own chest as he carded his fingers through Darren’s slightly sweat-damp hair.

 

Darren’s hand was still wrapped loosely around his cock, arm trapped awkwardly between their bodies.  It should have been too much, and it was.  His nerves sparked with every minute shift, every scrape of skin against skin, but he didn’t want Darren to move, didn’t want him to leave.  He didn’t even care about the come cooling and drying against his skin.  He’d have to scrub clean before he went to wardrobe.

 

 _Oh god, we’re in my trailer.  We’re on set, in my trailer, and Darren just jerked me off_.

 

Chris flushed, which seemed impossible given how red he knew he was from his orgasm. He thought of the people, the crewmembers, who were probably walking around outside right now.  He thought of his cast mates in their own trailers just feet away.  How loud had he been? Had anyone heard him or Darren? Had they seen Darren coming into his trailer and then heard the unmistakable sounds of sex? Would anyone care if they had seen?

 

There were so many things he wanted to say to Darren, wanted to ask him.

 

_What was this?  Why now?  How fast can you get it up again?_

 

But with Darren warm and pliant against his body, and his hand still down his pants, fingers now stroking lightly at the tops of his thighs, Chris didn’t care at all for the reasons why this happened.  He was happy.  In this moment, he was sated and happy and he wasn’t going to ruin it for himself.

 

“Darren, I, we,” Chris paused, licking at his lips.

 

Darren’s heart stuttered and he tucked his face into Chris’ throat.  Panic flooded through him at Chris’ cut-off words, almost overriding the post-orgasm high he was running on.

 

_Don’t say you regret this. You can’t regret this. You said yes._

 

Darren wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch with Chris again and sleep until Glee was over and he could spent the rest of his summer tangled up with Chris, doing little more than fucking and napping and eating.  Maybe he’d play a show here and there. Maybe. If he could drag himself away from Chris long enough.

 

But he needed Chris to want that too.  He needed this to not be weird now, for this to be right for Chris the way it felt right for him.

 

“Yeah?” Darren finally prompted, when the silence had stretched a note too long.

“Our breakfast is probably cold.”

 

Darren laughed; he couldn’t help it.  He leaned back just enough to find Chris’ mouth in a deep kiss.  Chris’ lips parted for him instantly and he shivered at the taste of that tongue, so familiar now.  Darren slowly slid his hand from Chris’ pants.  His fingers were tacky with Chris’ drying come and he could feel his own cooling and sticking in his underwear.  It felt wonderful.

 

Darren broke away from the kiss and rested his forehead against Chris’. “I – I should go clean up,” he said, barely above a whisper.  He didn’t want to go, but they had work.  He hoped they weren’t already late.

 

“Yeah,” Chris reluctantly agreed.  “Me too.”

 

“Sorry about breakfast.”  Darren brushed his knuckles down Chris’ cheek.

 

Chris grinned and leaned into the touch.  “You should be.  I’m starving now.”

  
Darren pulled away with a final peck to Chris’ lips and stepped back. If he didn’t go now, he might never leave.  “See you on set in a bit?”

 

“I’ll even reheat your coffee for you.”

 

Darren grinned and couldn’t resist a quick, final kiss before he stepped away and headed for the door, trying not to grimace at the tug of dried come. He glanced back over his shoulder at Chris as he left.  He found Chris still leaning against the wall with his pants unzipped but tugged back up his hips, watching him go with dark, heavy-lidded eyes, flushed and wrecked and gorgeous.

 

It took everything Darren had to take that final step out of the trailer. As the door closed behind him, Darren wondered what his next step should be.


	12. Chapter 12

Darren needed a plan; he needed one fast.  And he needed a plan that involved thought process beyond _kiss Chris breathless every damn chance you get. And also orgasms_.

 

Not that he hadn’t been doing that.  He had.  Every single chance he got.

 

It turned out that there were more than enough opportunities during those endless, wasted hours on set for Darren to snag a few desperate moments with Chris. There was time to push him up against a wall in an empty classroom, grinding slow and dirty against him while Chris sunk his teeth into his shoulder. There were chances to tug him behind a wardrobe rack and palm at his cock until Chris was flushed and shivering and panting _trailer, trailer now_ against his lips.

 

Darren had never been more grateful for those trailers than he was during that week. Sure, it was nice to have a place to throw his coat and take a nap between scenes somewhere that wasn’t the hard, dirty floor, but he hadn’t realized how _useful_ the seclusion and privacy of the trailers could be.  He really was kind of an idiot.

 

It was nothing to follow Chris into his trailer, or lead him into his own, without fear of someone calling them out on it – they’d always spent most of their time between scenes together.  Coming in and out of each other’s trailers wasn’t exactly anything new and Darren couldn’t imagine that anyone would look twice.   The sight of them walking shoulder to shoulder around set wasn’t likely to raise any suspicions.  And besides, the other cast members were too busy with their own lives and tangled relationships to notice the goings-on of anyone else. If sometimes Chris’ hair was a little wilder after half an hour in Darren’s trailer, or if Darren’s throat was still flushed a little red and he had a dopey grin on his face, well, they were Chris and Darren, and sometimes they were _weird_.

 

Of course, before when they were in each other’s trailers, passing the time before their next scene, they’d be reading, or playing videos games, or talking about nothing at all.  Or Darren would be working a new song, strumming out notes on the guitar he’d taken to leaving in his trailer and scribbling phrases on blank sheet music while Chris typed away at his book or movie script.

 

But now, when they could, when they had the time, the guitar and the laptop had been set aside for the frantic press of bodies and the scrape of fingernails and the slide of tongues.

 

Darren remembered an time, two days after their first frenzied encounter in Chris’ trailer, when they had a couple of hours until they needed to be back on set.  He remembered how Chris had pushed him down onto the couch, laughing as he pulled Darren’s hands from their hold on his ass.

 

“Chris,” Darren whined, trying to pull Chris down onto his lap so he could wrap his arms around him and grind up against him, getting them both off fast and dirty so they’d have time for a second round.

 

“Shh,” Chris replied, leaning in and licking up the side of Darren’s neck. Darren heard the grin in his voice as Chris threw his own words back at him, and he clutched at Chris’ neck, pulling him into a deep, messy kiss.  Their mouths fit together so easily.  Darren didn’t know how he’d gone so long without the press of Chris’ lips against him, and the glide of his tongue against his own. He hoped he never had to go without it again.

 

“Come on.” Darren pulled a little, tugging Chris’ shirt out of his pants with his other hand, trying to find skin, and moaning a little when his fingers brushed along the smooth heat of Chris’ waist. He could already feel his cock swelling at the nearness of Chris.

 

Chris shook his head and pulled back a little.  Darren narrowed his eyes at the dark, secret little grin that was curving Chris’ red lips and he pouted until Chris pressed a quick kiss to his mouth.

 

“Stop pouting,” Chris murmured, stroking his hands down Darren’s chest, feeling the tight muscles flex in response to his touch.  “I want,” Chris paused and leaned back in, mouthing along Darren’s jawline.  Darren’s hands went back to Chris’ hips, clutching tightly and trying to pull him even closer.

 

“What?” Darren asked, and his breath hitched when Chris brushed his thumbs across his nipples, rubbing slow circles until they hardened into peaks and pleasure shivered down his spine. Darren shifted restlessly, hips rising a little, seeking friction.

 

“I want to do something.” Chris nuzzled at the tender skin behind Darren’s ear, breathing a little faster already.  He could smell the heat of Darren, and taste the salt of him, and he wanted more. He wanted everything so badly. Wanted to touch and to taste and to fuck.  He wanted Darren in his bed, in his life, forever.  But he needed Darren to want that too.

 

“We’re doing something,” Darren panted, fingers flexing against Chris’ hip. “I’m trying to do something here. You should help.” Darren tugged sharply and Chris planted a knee on a sofa next to him to keep from tipping forward into his lap.

 

“Just,” Chris brushed his lips across Darren’s cheek, feeling the delicious scrape of stubble, until he found his mouth, open and waiting for him. “Just let me,” he whispered before sliding his tongue between Darren’s parted lips.  Darren’s sharp inhale of breath whenever they kissed never failed to make Chris’ stomach clench and his heart stutter a little.

  
Darren moaned beneath him and he slid a hand up Chris’ broad back until he could tangle his fingers into Chris’ thick hair, sucking eagerly at Chris’ tongue.  He spread his thighs without thinking about it.

 

He whined again when Chris pulled back and eased off his precarious perch on the couch.

 

“Chris, why,” Darren began, but the words caught in his throat when Chris slowly bent his knees until he was kneeling on the floor between Darren’s thighs.

 

Darren gasped at the sight of Chris kneeling between his legs and felt a hot flush travel all the way down the length of his body.  He shivered when Chris leaned in and pressed a kiss to the center of his chest through his shirt.  His mouth was hot even through the fabric.

 

Chris rucked Darren’s shirt up over his chest, exposing his tight torso and hardened nipples.  Darren’s head fell back against the couch and his eyes fluttered closed at the first touch of Chris’ tongue on his skin, dragging slow and hot up the center of his chest until Chris reached the hollow of his throat.  He sucked a quick kiss there, careful not to leave a mark where Darren’s shirt wouldn’t cover.

 

Darren moaned, hips shifting against Chris’ stomach, as Chris kissed his way back down Darren’s chest before closing his lips around a nipple, flicking his tongue over the nub.  This close he could hear Darren’s heart beating wildly, just beneath his lips.

 

Darren’s hands came up to clutch at Chris’ shoulders, fingers digging into the thick muscle, and his hips arched up when Chris scraped his teeth ever so lightly across his sensitive nipple.

 

“Chris,” he gasped.

 

“Shh,” Chris whispered against his chest, moving over to lick at Darren’s other nipple. He stroked his fingers against Darren’s ribs, delighting in the shivers his touch produced.  Darren’s skin was so hot against his hands. Another day, when they had more time, and more room, and he didn’t have _plans_ , he was going to lay Darren out and spend _hours_ mapping every dip and valley and contour of his body.

 

Chris mouthed his way down Darren’s belly, loving the light scratch of hair, until his chin hit Darren’s waistband.  He paused, breathing deeply, and looked up.

 

Darren was flushed and panting, chest heaving with every breath, and his eyes were squeezed shut against the pleasure rushing through him.  Chris felt Darren’s fingers flexing against his shoulders. He looked utterly gorgeous, already close to wrecked, and Chris blinked slowly against the rush of want and heat that flooded through his gut.

 

 _Mine_ his brain insisted.   _You should be mine. Why aren’t you?_

  
“Darren,” he said, voice low and coaxing.  “Look at me.”

 

Darren’s eyes slowly slid open, and the look in them made Chris’ stomach clench hotly.

  
His pupils were already blown wide, irises so dark that his eyes appeared almost black in the dim lighting of the trailer.

 

“I need you to tell me this is ok,” Chris said, and he licked at his lower lip, watching the shifting of Darren’s expression for any uncertainty, any hesitation at all.

 

Darren reached out and cupped Chris’ jaw, rubbing his thumb across Chris’ lips, shivering at the wet slide.  “Chris, you-” Darren swallowed thickly.

 

He wanted to say that Chris didn’t have to do this, that they could just do what they’d been doing the last week, that it was enough.  They hadn’t gone this far yet – even though Darren thought about it all the time.  How it would feel to have Chris in his mouth, heavy and salty on his tongue. What it would be like to have Chris’ lips wrapped around him, mouth hot and sweet and perfect around the length of him.  Of course he wanted that, wanted more, wanted everything of Chris, but he wasn’t going to ask it of him without being sure Chris wanted it too.

 

“Let me, please.” Chris nuzzled at Darren’s belly, and he shivered when one of Darren’s hands slid from his shoulder, up his neck, and into his hair, scratching lightly along his scalp.

 

“You have to let me.”

 

“God, Chris, yes,” Darren panted, struggling to keep his hips from thrusting up. “Anything you want. Please.”

 

Chris smiled to himself and reached up, undoing Darren’s pants and easing the zip down over the straining bulge of Darren’s hard cock, careful not to hurt him in the process. Darren lifted his hips helpfully as Chris worked his pants down, sighing at the easing of pressure against his erection. Chris stroked his hands soothingly up and down Darren’s trembling thighs, enjoying the rasp of hair against his palms.

 

Darren felt hot and shaky already, just knowing where this was all leading, anticipating the first touch of Chris’ lips and tongue.  He’d already had some of the best orgasms of his life just from the perfect grip of Chris’ hand, or the pressure of his thigh rocking up into him. He couldn’t imagine what this was going to be like, and he was already looking forward to reciprocating.

 

Chris stared at the bulk of Darren, still hidden behind the black boxer-briefs, already hard and straining against the fabric for him.  He’d seen Darren’s cock before, of course he had – had seen it flushed and hard, heavy and leaking at the tip.  He’d seen it soft and spent, streaked with come and lube. But somehow this felt different, felt more intimate to be this close, where he could smell the heat and the musk of him already.

 

Chris shoved back all the reasons that suddenly rose up why he shouldn’t be doing this, that _they_ shouldn’t be doing this. He _wanted_ this, had wanted it for longer than he cared to think about, and he was going to continue to take it and enjoy it.

 

Licking his lips again, Chris slid his fingers under the waistband of Darren’s underwear and gently eased them down too, finally exposing him.  His mouth flooded at the sight of Darren, bare and aching for him, just inches from his mouth, and his own cock swelled and hardened.

 

Chris leaned down and buried his face in the crease of Darren’s hip, breathing in deep the masculine scent of him, mouthing lightly at the soft, delicate skin. He nipped lightly and grinned when Darren’s entire body twitched.  He wanted to suck a mark into Darren’s thigh – dark and bruised and the perfect shape of his mouth.  Chris felt the base of Darren’s cock against his cheek and couldn’t help but rub against it a little and he almost moaned when Darren gripped tighter at his shoulders. He knew Darren was struggling not to tangle his fingers into Chris’ hair and guide his mouth exactly where he wanted it.

  
Chris didn’t know how to tell Darren that it would be ok if he did just that.

 

He wanted to take his time, to draw this out for hours and hours.  He wanted to lick and bite and scratch all around Darren’s hips, thighs, and belly, to get him aching and needy and demanding before backing off, pressing slow kisses to his mouth, his throat, until he calmed down before starting all over again.  Over and over until they were both sweating and groaning and so very desperate for release.  But he just didn’t have the time, not then anyway; maybe one wonderful weekend morning, when they didn’t have work and everything could be slow and lazy.

 

Chris shifted on his knees, getting comfortable, and he slid one of his hands under Darren’s thigh, gripping at the thick, strong muscle.  He moaned a little at the sight of Darren’s thighs easily spreading wider for him, and he couldn’t help but think of how wide Darren’s legs could part, opening around him as he settled between them.  Chris ran his gaze over Darren’s hard cock - the thick, length of him, curved gently against his belly, just glistening at the tip. He wasn’t going to tell him, because no one needed that kind of ego boost, but Darren really did have a wonderful cock.

 

He leaned down and brushed his lips against the head, tasting salt and musk, and he smiled a little as Darren’s hips jerked up beneath him.  He rested his other arm across Darren’s hips, holding him down gently.

 

“Say yes,” Chris whispered, and he ran his tongue, light and teasing, along the ridge just under the head.  “Tell me again.” He sucked the head into his mouth briefly, enjoying Darren’s choked gasp and the way his thighs trembled.

  
“Yes god yes _Chris_ ,” Darren squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear the sight of Chris’ red lips sliding down the length of him to nose at his balls, licking delicately at the soft, thin skin before sucking one into his mouth.  “Anything you want.  Always.”

 

Chris hummed a little and ran the flat of his tongue from Darren’s sac up the length of his cock, feeling it pulse under his tongue, before sinking his mouth down over the head, taking him in.

 

Darren moaned at the wet heat that suddenly engulfed him, shifting restlessly under Chris’ hold and his mouth.  It had been so long since he’d had this.  He didn’t think he could have possibly forgotten how it felt, but somehow he had. Because every touch, every lick, every suck, sent overwhelming waves of heat and pleasure coursing through his body, sparking along his skin and nerves.  Or maybe those other blowjobs could never have prepared him for this; for the touch of Chris’ tongue, his lips – hot and wet and perfect, for the grip of his hand at the base of his cock, holding him steady before drifting down to massage his balls.

 

Darren gripped at his own hair, messing up the careful styling, to keep from sinking his fingers into Chris’ and pulling.  He didn’t know if Chris would be ok with that and he didn’t want to do anything to stop the incredible slide of Chris’ mouth down and up the length of his cock.  He could hear the wet sounds of Chris sucking him, tracing the veins of him, obscenely loud in the silence of the trailer, only punctuated by his own moans.

 

“Oh god Chris please,” Darren moaned when he felt Chris pushing down, taking him deeper and deeper into the snug heat of his throat until his nose was buried in the hair at Darren’s groin.  A strangled sound, deep and broken, escaped him when Chris swallowed around him.

 

Darren clutched at Chris’ strong, muscled forearm where it lay across his hips, pressing down and holding him still.  He groaned, desperately trying to keep his hips from pumping up, from thrusting down Chris’ throat the way he wanted.

 

“Chris, god, you,” Darren panted.  He could feel the heat pooling in his stomach and lower, feel it beginning to spread all along his limbs.

 

Darren wasn’t going to last, couldn’t possibly last.  Not with the mind-numbing heat of Chris’ mouth all around him, the flutter of his tongue, the squeeze of his throat when he took him in so deep before pulling back.

 

“You’re, I’m--” Darren couldn’t string two words together, not with the way Chris’ mouth was moving over him, tonguing at his slit, sucking just under the head, humming in pleasure as he did so, sending shivers of heat all through him. “Please, so close, I can’t,” Darren gasped and his back arched as Chris sunk back down, taking him into his throat.

 

Chris smiled as best he could around the thick length of Darren in his mouth, thrilling at the knowledge that he was affecting Darren so strongly.  He had done this before, with his past boyfriends, and had always enjoyed it, had loved making them feel so good. But somehow this felt different - this felt better - to be on his knees for Darren, making him gasp and pant and moan like this. Because of him.  For him.

 

 _Darren_.

  
The taste and smell of him was intoxicating - heady and salty and all male. He thought he could bury his face in Darren’s groin and never leave.  Darren was heavy on his tongue, his cock hot and pulsing, and the taste of his precome, leaking steadily now from the tip, was exhilarating.

 

Chris thought he might come, just from this, just from giving this to Darren. His own cock was hard and straining against his fly.  He moved one hand down to press against his aching erection, and his hips thrust up against his hand.  It wasn’t going to take much at all to get him off.

 

Darren felt his orgasm gathering, felt his balls tightening and drawing up, felt the telltale heat pooling low in his belly.  He groaned; he didn’t want it to end.

 

“Chris, I’m,” he tapped at Chris’ shoulder, trying to warn him, in case he wanted to pull off. They hadn’t discussed what their limits were; they hadn’t discussed anything at all.

 

“You should, I’m going to…”

 

Chris growled and sunk deeper, tightening his lips around Darren’s cock and pushing down harder on his hips, keeping Darren from attempting to pull away. He wanted it – wanted Darren to come in his mouth, down his throat.  He wanted to taste him this way, not just licking the come from his fingers and the palm of his hand.

 

Chris let go of the base of Darren’s cock and slid his hand down, pressing a thumb against the space just behind Darren’s balls, and Darren’s entire body spasmed hard.

 

Darren cried out hoarsely, arching high off the back of the couch, as his orgasm rushed through him, pulsing hotly down Chris’ throat.

 

Chris swallowed around Darren’s cock, reveling in the thick slide of his come against the back of his tongue.  He tasted bitter and perfect and Chris kept his lips wrapped around the head until Darren stopped jerking against his tongue, gentling him through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

 

Chris finally pulled off with a wet noise when Darren’s fingers scrambled pitifully against his shoulders and his hips twitched _away_ , the sensations finally too much.  Chris pressed his forehead to the crease of Darren’s hip, panting harshly as he palmed his own cock through his pants.

 

Suddenly, he felt Darren’s hand clutch the back of his neck and haul him up into a kiss. He made a soft protesting sound as their lips collided, knowing that the taste of the Darren’s own come was still thick and bitter on his tongue, but Darren kissed him eagerly, still gasping for breath between swipes of tongue and nips of teeth.

 

“Chris,” Darren murmured, and Chris groaned against his lips when he felt Darren’s hand against his own, nudging him out of the way to grope at his cock through his pants.

 

It didn’t take much at all – just a few squeezes – and he was gone, moaning into Darren’s mouth, hips jerking erratically, as he came in his pants.  He crawled into Darren’s lap then, resting his face against Darren’s warm throat and dancing light fingers across his still bared ribcage as they caught their breath, enjoying the steady sweep of Darren’s hand across his back.

 

But that had been days ago, the blowjob in his trailer, and Darren _still_ didn’t know what he was doing.  He hadn’t managed to develop a plan beyond _more more more_. And it was starting to worry him.

 

He didn’t know what _they_ doing, he and Chris. They weren’t dating, he knew that much, but he wanted to.  Darren wanted to take Chris out for dinner, to sing him silly love songs, to hold his hand during a cheesy movie.  He wanted everything from Chris, everything that Chris would give him, but he didn’t know how to ask.  And he didn’t know where Chris stood.  But he couldn’t let this drag on, not when Chris meant so much to him and this kind of thing had the potential to destroy their relationship permanently.

 

That afternoon, Darren was stretched out on his trailer floor, pants open and bunched around his thighs as Chris lay next to him, one leg thrown over Darren’s as he licked languidly at the streaks of come on Darren’s torso.  They hadn’t even made it to the couch before tearing at each other’s clothes, laughing between kisses as they slid to the floor in a tangle of arms, legs, and mouths.

 

As Darren stroked his hand down Chris’ naked back, feeling the shift and flex of muscle, he thought of Matt’s whispered words of encouragement from the other week.

 

 _Take a chance; don’t be afraid_.

 

He was trying - to not be afraid of what could grow and develop between he and Chris, if Chris wanted the same things that he wanted.  He tried not to be afraid of Chris saying _no._

 

Darren took a deep breath.

 

“You should come over tonight,” Darren finally said, running his fingers through Chris’ hair, tucking it back behind his ear.

 

“Should I?” Chris sucked a trace of come from Darren’s abs and wondered who it belonged to.

 

“You should,” Darren brushed his knuckles down Chris’ cheek. “We never finished watching Avatar.”

 

Chris paused with his tongue still at the rim of Darren’s bellybutton. He lifted his head a bit to rest his chin on Darren’s stomach, gazing up at him. Darren’s breath caught at how blue those eyes were in that moment, bright and sated. Fond.

 

“Is that the only reason why?”

 

Darren swallowed and felt the heat rise to his cheeks, heart pounding hard in his chest with nerves and adrenaline.

 

 _Don’t be afraid_.

 

“No,” he said, barely above a whisper.

 

“Ok,” Chris responded, and he pressed a kiss to Darren’s stomach.  “I’ll come over.”  Chris looked back up at Darren with a warm, if slightly shy, smile curving his mouth.

 

Darren felt his body relax, releasing the built-up tension, and he grinned back down at Chris.

 

“Okay.”

 

_Take a chance._


	13. Chapter 13

Chris paced restlessly around his living room, moving a pillow from one end of the sofa to the other, shifting things around on the coffee table before putting them back where they started.  He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t keep his hands from restively touching everything around him. In the time since he’d come home after the last scene of the day, he’d reorganized his bookshelves, dusted every shelf, and refolded all his laundry.

 

Darren was on his way over, and Chris kept glancing anxiously at the clock on the wall.

 

Darren had caught him at the end of the day with those huge apologetic puppy eyes out in full force and explained that Joey was still at their place, and that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.  And Darren wasn’t about to kick his best friend out of their home.

 

Chris had shuffled his feet nervously, ducking his head to avoid Darren’s big brilliant eyes, and tried to contain the waves of panic that had flooded through him.

 

 _He’s changed his mind_ , he’d thought, bile rising in his mouth and shame icing his nerves.  _He regrets it all and this is his way of letting me go._

 

But then Darren had reached out and gently touched his wrist, just three fingers soft to his pulse point, and said, “So, can I come over to yours?”

 

Chris had felt the heat rising in his face as he bit the inside of his cheek. He’d nodded, suddenly unable to say anything, and then Darren was gone with a quick grin.  Bouncing off to his own trailer to gather up his things.

 

That had been almost an hour ago.

 

What were they doing?  What were they even fucking doing?  They were friends, and co-workers, and this – what they were doing, what they were probably going to do tonight – crossed every goddamn line and boundary that Chris had so carefully laid down.  Whatever distance he’d struggled in vain to keep between them was steadily collapsing under the weight of his desire for touch, for closeness, for Darren.

 

 _Darren_.

  
He knew what could come of this, knew how quickly everything could fall apart, or blow up in both of their faces.  They weren’t just two people trying to find their way around one another in a new situation.  They were more than that, even, and most especially, if they didn’t want to be. They were never going to be able to just be themselves together – go out for a coffee, take a walk - not with the show still on, not with the eyes of the country and the media on them, charting their every move, their every touch.

 

And it was different for Chris.  Everyone and their mother already knew that he was gay, had already (mostly) accepted who he was.  Although when he thought about it, Chris wondered if the public was so seemingly at ease with him and his sexuality only because they’d never seen him _act_ on it.  They’d never seen him out on a date with another man, holding hands, kissing. Even so, if he were suddenly found to be in a relationship, the fact that he was with a man wouldn’t be a surprise, wouldn’t be interesting at all.

 

But Darren. It wouldn’t be the same for him. Darren had always straddled that thin little line of perceived sexuality.  But he’d always been safely in the realm of _but he’s straight right?_   That would change in a heartbeat.  There was no grey area in the world of the media – there would be no explaining that sexuality wasn’t some easy compartmentalized black and white _thing_ and that Darren wasn’t suddenly any different now than he had been before.

 

It would be a shitstorm. The press would be all over it.  Over them.  And Chris didn’t know that he could do that to Darren, didn’t think he could put him through that.

 

The clock ticked another minute gone and Chris collapsed down into a chair with a sigh, only to jump up from it the next moment when there was a knock on the front door, three quick taps of Darren’s knuckles against the heavy wood.

 

Chris felt his heart leap to his throat and he ran his hands through his shower-damp hair, pushing it back off his forehead.  He tugged at the hem of his shirt, and smoothed his clammy palms against his jeans before walking over and tugging the door open.

 

Darren was standing there, face scrunched up in an apologetic grin. His hair was damp from an obvious shower, curls flattened and clinging to his forehead.  He was wearing that stupid Michigan t-shirt, the same one he’d been wearing in the hair and makeup trailer when Matt Bomer had first shown up on set, when this whole thing had truly begun. It was the one that clung to his chest and skimmed the plane of his stomach and Chris’ fingers twitched to push the thin material up and touch the soft skin that he knew was beneath it.

 

 _I could_ , he thought in a giddy rush.  _I could do just that and it’d be ok._

 

“Hey man, sorry it took me so long.”  Darren walked straight into Chris’ house, plastic bag in one hand, old tote bag hanging from the other shoulder.  As he passed by, close enough that his shoulder brushed Chris’ chest, Chris caught the scent of his shampoo and his soap over the drifting aroma of the food, and he felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

 

“There was a crazy fucking line at the Thai place,” Darren continued, heading into the living room and setting his bags down on the coffee table that Chris had spent so much time rearranging.

 

“Luckily, they know me.” Darren opened the plastic bag and started pulling out boxes and spreading them out.  “I mean, it’s not like _they know who I am_. I wouldn’t do that. That’s awful.  It’s just take-out.  I can wait like everyone else.  I’m not that special; I wouldn’t cut in line for some goddamn noodles.  I’m an asshole, but I’m not a dick, you know?”  Darren flashed a quick grin at Chris over his shoulder and Chris’ stomach clenched at how incredibly fucking domestic it felt all of a sudden.

 

The familiar food. The comfortable clothes. The ease of Darren coming in and taking over his space without a thought, without a worry.  How right it all felt.  Chris swallowed thickly and clenched his hands.

 

Darren tossed his tote bag to the floor, getting it out of the way, and as it tipped over, Chris caught a flash of a plaid something inside.

 

 _Pajamas?_ His heart stuttered a little at the mere idea that Darren came prepared to spend the night.  At his place.  In his _bed_. Chris rubbed compulsively at his chest a little, as if he could slow the racing of his heart with the palm of his hand.

 

“Grab some plates?”  Darren asked, startling Chris from his thoughts.

  
Chris nodded and stepped into the kitchen, rummaging for plates and utensils, snagging some drinks from the fridge on his way back to the living room. He could hear Darren rambling away the whole time and he wondered if Darren was as nervous about this night, whatever this night turned out to be, as he was.

 

“But they recognized me because I’m there all the fucking time and we always order the same stuff, so when I walked in, they saw me and got our food started right away.  It would have taken me even longer to get here if they hadn’t.  But they did, because they are awesome.  I gave them a big tip though.  So yay!” 

 

Darren finished piling their plates with more food than Chris could possibly eat that night, not with the way his stomach was fluttering and his heart was pounding just a touch too fast.  He wasn’t sure he could actually eat anything at all; he wasn’t sure he even wanted to.

 

“Come on,” Darren sank down onto the couch with a sigh and rested his plate on his thighs. “Dig in before it gets cold.”

 

Chris sat down next to him, close enough that their elbows brushed and their feet tapped together. 

 

Darren hadn’t brought the _Avatar_ DVDs with him, and he blushed a lovely shade of pink when Chris mentioned them, mumbling something about how he forgot in his haste to get the food and Chris couldn’t quite catch the rest of it.

 

He took a few bites and stared blankly at the commercial playing on the TV in front of them, hyperaware of the heat of Darren’s body next to him, unable to stop the nervous rolling of his stomach.

 

Darren was suddenly strangely quiet next to him, now that his story about getting dinner was over, for once not talking over the TV, babbling away about everything and nothing.  And he wasn’t eating much either, just kind of pushing his food around his plate and shifting restlessly. Chris could feel the awkward tension rising with every moment.  And he hated it.  This wasn’t them; this wasn’t how they were together.

 

Finally, Chris set his still mostly full plate down on the table and turned slightly towards Darren, who was staring determinedly at his food, gripping his plate so tightly that his knuckles were white.

 

“Darren, I,” he started, but didn’t get to finish.

 

Suddenly, Darren set his own plate down on the table with enough force to spill a little and grabbed Chris’ face in both hands, tugging him into an awkward messy kiss that was more teeth than lips.

 

Chris melted into it immediately, parting his lips for Darren’s tongue, and thrilling, as he always did, when Darren sucked in a quick, shocked breath. Darren pressed in as close as he could, tongue sliding deep and dirty, pulling back to bite at Chris’ lower lip until Chris whimpered.

 

It was so easy to want this, to want everything.  And he did.  God, he did.  Chris got his hands under Darren’s shirt and moaned at the smooth, heated skin that was finally, finally under his palms.  He grinned against Darren’s mouth when he felt the shiver that shuddered through Darren’s body at his touch.

 

“Come on,” Darren mumbled, carding his fingers through Chris’ hair before gripping at the back of his neck.  “Come on.” His other arm moved to wrap around Chris’ shoulders.

 

“Hmm?” Chris didn’t know what Darren was saying, didn’t know anything save for tight flex of Darren’s waist under his hands, and the press of his lips, damp and heated, against his own.

 

“Up,” Darren panted, and he rose from the couch, bringing Chris with him. “Come on.”  With a final deep kiss, Darren broke away and grabbed at Chris’ hand.  Before Chris could really even grasp what was happening, he found himself stumbling over his own feet and the edge of the rug as Darren pulled him through his house to his bedroom.  How Darren knew the way so well, Chris didn’t want to think about.

  
His bedroom was dark and cool, the curtains kept drawn against the afternoon sun.  Chris managed to turn on one of the floor lamps, casting a soft warm light through the room, before he felt Darren’s hands on his hips, turning him.  He gasped when his back hit the wall, but the sound was muffled by Darren’s mouth closing over his, kissing him breathless once more. There were hands roaming over his body – his chest, his hips, his stomach – and Chris felt himself melting into it, legs spreading for the press of Darren against him.

 

Chris flashed to that first time in the trailer, when Darren had him up against a wall with a hand down his pants.  He shivered just at the thought that tonight there would be more.  God, he hoped there would be more.  Chris got his hands up between their bodies and pushed against Darren’s chest, pushing him back, and their lips parted with a slick, obscene sound that made Chris’ toes curl.

 

Darren was panting, his breath hot against Chris’ face, and his lips were red and swollen, already bruised from Chris’ kisses.  If Chris looked down, he knew he’d see the bulge of Darren’s cock straining against his fly; he could certainly feel it against his hip.

 

“Come on,” Chris said, and he walked Darren back to the bed.  His bed.  They were in his bedroom in his house and that was his bed. Chris swallowed thickly and felt a blush spread down his throat.

 

_Oh god we’re doing this we’re actually doing this._

 

Darren sat when he felt the mattress against the back of his knees and he bounced a little, grinning so widely that his eyes disappeared.  He reached out and grabbed Chris by the hips again, pulling him close between his spread thighs.  He nuzzled Chris’ stomach, nosing at his bellybutton through the fabric of his shirt, and hummed a little when he felt Chris’ fingers run through his hair, scratching just lightly at his scalp.

 

He pushed Chris’ shirt up and sucked a mark into his hip.  Chris moaned at the heat that shot through him, fingers tightening in Darren’s hair when he felt teeth and tongue and the sucking pressure of Darren leaving a hickey, a fucking _hickey,_ on his hip like they were teenagers.  He couldn’t even think to tell Darren to stop, didn’t want him to stop.  He wanted the shape of Darren’s mouth left all over him - the indentations of his teeth, the bruises of his fingers at his waist, his wrists, his thighs.

Darren pushed at Chris’ shirt again, growling a little, and Chris got the message. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.  He reached down and grabbed at the back of Darren’s own shirt, pulling it up and off, grinning when Darren helpfully lifted his arms over his head.  Chris stared down at Darren for a heated moment, at the rapid rise and fall of his bared chest, at the small, tight nipples, the dusting of dark hair.  With careful, nearly reverent fingers, Chris traced the solid curve of Darren’s collarbone, felt the heavy pulse at the base of his throat, and slid his fingers down between Darren’s pectorals, watching as Darren shivered under his touch.

 

He glanced at Darren’s face and found him staring back with dark, heavy-lidded eyes, lust and want and need written in every tiny movement of his features. He bit his lip when Darren took his hand and pressed it to his chest, over his heart.  Chris could feel just how fast, how hard it was pounding.

  
“Darren,” Chris murmured, voice already deeper than usual. He gasped when Darren grabbed him again and pulled him down to the bed, twisting so that Chris ended up on his back, Darren hovering over him.

 

There were fingers scrabbling at his fly, sliding his zipper down, and Chris lifted his hips when Darren curled his fingers in the waistband of his pants and tugged them down and off, leaving him spread out on his bed in just his boxer-briefs, which were doing little to hide the strain of his erection.

  
Darren sat back on his heels and gazed down at Chris, at all the smooth pale skin stretched over long, lean muscles that was laid out in front of him. He knew what Chris looked like. He knew how tall he’d grown, how long his legs were, how broad his shoulders had gotten, but nothing had prepared him for this.  Nothing could have prepared him for the strength of Chris’ thighs, the way his waist narrowed down from the breadth of his chest, the smattering of light hair. How much of him there was. Darren ran the palm of his hand up Chris’ flat stomach and grinned at the way the muscles fluttered under his touch.

 

“Darren,” Chris moaned, arching a little.  “You have to take yours off too,” he managed to say, which was quite the feat considering the way Darren was tracing circles around his nipples, sending little sparks of pleasure all the way down to his cock.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Darren rolled his eyes and managed to work his own pants off, twisting a little to get them down.  Chris’ eyes widened when he saw that Darren was taking his underwear off as well. He stared at the thatch of dark hair at the base, the way Darren’s cock curved, long and just thick enough to be _perfect_ , up against his belly.

 

Chris shimmied out of his own underwear and sat up against the headboard of his bed. It seemed only fair after all, and he flushed in pleasure when he saw the look in Darren’s eyes, dark and wanting, as he took him in.

 

“Okay then,” Darren said, voice thick and rough at the sight of Chris’ cock, so similar, and yet so different from his own.  He couldn’t help but wonder, _imagine_ what it was going to feel like.

 

“Okay.”

  
Darren shifted a little closer to Chris, settling between his legs.

 

Chris’ legs were so much hairier than Darren expected, not that he hadn’t seen Chris’ legs before.  He had. A thousand times over. He’d seen those legs in shorts and in ridiculously tight pants.  He’d seen those legs do high kicks and splits.  But this was different.  This was utterly up close and personal.  He ran his hand up Chris’ shin, ruffling the hair the wrong way, and laughed when a shiver passed through Chris’ body, gooseflesh rising under his touch.

 

“Stop that,” Chris protested, jerking his leg away.

 

“No.” Darren did the same thing to Chris’ other leg, squeezing at the solid knot of muscle just above Chris’ knee and grinned when Chris kicked out against his shoulder, teasingly pushing him back. Darren growled a little and bent down, nipping at the tender, pale skin of Chris’ inner thigh.

 

“Oh,” Chris moaned at the sudden, unexpected sensation, and his hips shifted restlessly, unconsciously pressing closer to the heat of Darren’s mouth.

 

Darren wanted to slide his mouth over, to take Chris as deep into his throat as he could. He’d only had the chance to do that to him once so far, one night late on set in the trailer with Chris pressed up against a wall and Darren on his knees before him.  It’d been so long since he’d done that, since he’d wanted to, and it had taken him a moment to remember – remember the heat and the slide and rhythm and lingering ache in his jaw.  But god, how good it had been, to have the taste of Chris rich on his tongue and the scent of him so close, filling his pores.

 

And he wanted to sink his mouth lower, roll Chris over and find out if he could make him moan, make him scream, make him come just with his lips and his tongue.

 

But those were things for another day, another time; he wanted something so much more that night.

 

Darren slid up Chris’ body, shivering at the heated slide of skin against skin, the scratch of hair.  He spread his legs to straddle Chris’ lap, settling his ass down on Chris’ thighs. Chris’ arms curled around his waist, holding him tight, and Darren leaned in, cupping Chris’ face and capturing his mouth in a wet kiss.  He didn’t think he’d ever get over kissing Chris, the way their mouths fit together, the slide of that tongue against his, the taste of his breath.

 

Chris was drowning in Darren, in the very tooth and taste of him. He could feel Darren’s cock, hard against his own, rubbing with just enough friction to send him shivering with every movement, every rock of Darren’s hips.  He gripped at Darren’s flanks, fingers digging in deep.

 

“Darren,” Chris heard himself saying without realizing that he was speaking. He ran his lips down the column of Darren’s throat and could feel the pounding of Darren’s heartbeat. He wanted to leave his own marks all over that throat.

 

“Chris please,” Darren moaned, rocking a little faster, and Chris almost bit his tongue at the friction, the heat that raced up his spine, the pleasure that seemed to stretch his skin too tight over his bones.

 

“You have to say it.” Chris ducked his head and drew one of Darren’s nipples into his mouth.  “You have to say it, I need to hear you say it.”

 

“I want you, Chris.” Darren ran his knuckles down Chris’ cheek.  “I want to – to do everything with you. Please.”

 

Chris closed his eyes against the fresh wave of _want_ that passed through him.  He leaned in, cradling the back of Darren’s head and finding his mouth in a kiss.

 

“Yes,” he murmured.  “Ok.”

 

“Oh good. I was hoping you’d agree.” Darren grinned roguishly and Chris couldn’t resist pressing a quick kiss to that smiling mouth.

 

“How could I ever say no to you?” Chris shrugged a little and caressed the soft, warm skin of Darren’s waist.

 

“Do you have any, you know?”  Darren flicked his eyes to the side, in the direction of the nightstand.

 

_Well fuck._

 

Chris groaned in frustration and leaned back against the headboard, glancing at his nightstand that he knew was well and truly empty of condoms.  “No,” he said, disbelieving. “I – it’s been a while, for me.  I can’t believe that I… Do you – on you?”

 

“What? In my wallet?” Darren laughed and leaned down to nuzzle at Chris’ belly, spine curving sharply.  “No.  I’m not eighteen.”

 

“Do you,” Chris ran his hand through his hair. “Do you still want to?  I mean, we could, without, if you’re – if you. I mean, I’ve already, to you, without one.  It’s kind of a little late for completely safe sex, but if that’s something, I don’t know if you’re – I just assumed that you--”

 

Darren nipped at the soft skin around Chris’ bellybutton to quiet him, before licking a flat stripe up his stomach all the way to his sternum.

 

“Shh.” Darren smiled and moved his lips over to one of Chris’ nipples, pressing the flat of his tongue to the tight peak.  Chris’ hips shifted restlessly underneath him and his fingers tightened in Darren’s hair. He was glad Darren didn’t seem to mind having his hair pulled a little.

 

“I’m clean. I’m safe,” Darren said, licking at the hard nipple.  “You know I would never hurt you like that.”

 

“I’m clean too.”

 

“I know you are.  _Controlled_ danger, right?”  Darren lifted his head and smirked up at Chris, who rolled his eyes.

 

“So, you want to?  Without one. You’re ok with that?” Heat pulsed through Chris’ body at the thought of being buried deep inside of Darren, nothing between them at all.  Just heat and flesh and sweat.

  
Darren drew Chris’ nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly before letting go.  “I want you,” he murmured, and he blew a stream of cool air across the damp skin.  Chris groaned and shivered at the sensation. “I don’t care how. With a condom or without. Lights on or off. On my back or on my knees. It doesn’t matter.” Darren rose back up and captured Chris’ mouth in a messy kiss, full of tongue and teeth.

 

“As long as it’s you.”

 

Chris swallowed hard against the emotion that rose fast in his throat. “Ok.”

 

The world suddenly seemed to move too fast.  Chris had Darren on his back and was settled between his thighs, raised and spread open for him, quicker than he thought possible. Darren was relaxed beneath him, expression calm and trusting, though Chris could feel the excited tension thrumming through him, could see it in the way his cock twitched against his stomach when Chris ran a soothing hand down Darren’s thigh.

 

There weren’t condoms in his nightstand, but there was lube.  The expensive stuff he ordered online because there was no way he was going to be photographed buying lube at a drugstore or sex shop. Chris spread a too-generous amount of it across his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up, before tracing his wet fingers down Darren’s sac to his entrance.

 

He groaned, deep in his throat, when he felt Darren’s muscles fluttering just at the touch of his fingers against him.  He circled Darren’s hole with slow, careful fingers, getting him used to the sensation, getting him wet.

 

“Okay,” he asked again, needing to know, needing to be sure.  Darren just clutched at his shoulders and nodded rapidly.

 

“God yes Chris if you don’t fucking do something I’m going to hurt you.”

 

Chris smiled and pressed a kiss to Darren’s lips as he gently slipped the tip of his finger inside, easing slowly past the tight ring of muscle until he was buried to the knuckle.

 

“Oh,” Darren said, and it was barely a word, more a moan, and it sent a shiver down Chris’ spine.  He pulled back a little, still moving his finger in and out as gently as he could, and looked down at Darren.

 

His eyes were dark as he stared back at Chris, pupils blown wide already, and Chris shuddered at the realization that he did that to Darren, that he was doing it, making him feel that way.

 

“You should,” Darren licked his lips and shifted his hips a little, moaning at the heat it sparked inside of him, just from the single finger.  “You should more.  More would be good.”

 

Darren was so tight around his fingers, hot and clenching; Chris didn’t know how he was ever going to last.  He was so hard, aching and desperate already.  Chris stretched Darren as slowly and carefully as he could, finally pressing three fingers deep inside, curving them, searching.  He grinned in triumph when he brushed against the smooth gland that sent Darren arching off the bed, a low broken sound tearing from his throat, hands scrabbling against Chris’ shoulders.

 

“Ahh, fucking Christ ok ok please you have to it’s enough please,” Darren babbled, lifting his hips with every thrust of Chris’ fingers inside of him.  He was flushed from cheeks to belly, panting and sweating, and his cock was leaking all over his stomach, throbbing hot and hard and god he wanted to come so badly already.

 

Chris drew back, slowly pulling his fingers out, careful not to hurt Darren, and Darren whimpered at the loss, ass clenching around nothing.  Chris couldn’t watch the shifting of his hips, the arching of his back, not if he didn’t want to come before he even got inside.

 

Chris reached for the bottle of lube with shaking hands and spread more than was necessary across his cock, shuddering at the touch of his own hand and probably getting it all over his sheets, but he didn’t care, didn’t fucking care at all.

 

He leaned back over Darren and bent down, kissing him hot and wet and messy as he slid a hand under Darren’s thigh, pushing his leg up and back.  Darren tilted his hips and wrapped his other leg around Chris’ hips.  Chris shivered at the rub of Darren’s calf against his overheated skin.  Every touch was lightning and thunder and his heart was beating too fast, blood rushing in his ears.

 

“I need, god Darren, say it again,” he panted against Darren’s mouth. “Tell me it’s ok.” He dragged his cock between Darren’s ass cheeks and pressed the tip against Darren’s stretched, slick entrance. There was no going back after this.

 

Darren ran his knuckles down Chris’ cheek and smiled at him, softly, fondly. “Chris, please. I want this.  I want you.  I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.”

 

Chris nodded, incapable of saying anything more.  They didn’t need to say anything more.

 

Slowly, and so carefully, he pushed inside, pausing with just the head of his cock inside, letting Darren adjust, knowing the deep, sharp ache that Darren must be feeling. But even that was almost too much for Chris, who shuddered hard and gasped.  Pleasure sparked all across his skin and it felt like he might break out of his own body at any moment.

 

Darren groaned beneath him, low and aching, eyes fluttering shut as his head tipped back, and Chris dropped his forehead to Darren’s shoulder, unable to hold his head up. Darren was so incredibly hot and tight around him, and sweat broke out all across Chris’ skin as he eased deeper and deeper inside, inch by careful inch, until he was as deep as he could get, pressed flush to Darren’s ass.

 

There was no distance left between them at all.

 

Chris wanted to ask if Darren was ok, needed to know he was ok, but the words stuck fast in his throat.  He could barely breathe, let alone speak.  Chris struggled to take a deep breath and he pressed a light kiss to Darren’s neck, tasting the salt of him, hoping Darren understood.

 

Darren nodded, and clung tighter to Chris’ shoulders, pulling him as close as possible. He shifted his hips a little, sliding his leg higher up Chris’ waist, and they both groaned at the slight change in angle.  His cock throbbed against his belly, smearing more precome against his skin.

 

Steadying himself, Chris pulled his hips back a little before thrusting back inside, slow and steady, and Darren moaned at the hot, slick drag of Chris inside him. He hadn’t known, how could he have known how this would feel?  It didn’t hurt, not in the way he’d thought it would.  But he ached – he felt stretched and full and so very open. He felt like Chris was taking him apart, piece by piece, and putting him back together in a new and better shape.

 

Chris tried to keep his thrusts smooth and steady, angling as best he could to brush against the smooth gland deep inside Darren that made him twist and moan and swear beneath him.  But the heat was gathering too quickly in him, making his hips stutter out of rhythm, making him pant and sweat as heat raced down his spine and pooled low in his hips.

 

He braced himself on one hand and curled the other around Darren’s cock, jerking it in time with his thrusts, and Darren cried out, back arching high off the bed.  He was so beautiful like this – wrecked and wanting and gorgeous.

 

 _And mine_ , Chris thought. _He’s mine._

 

“Chris please,” Darren groaned, nails digging deep into Chris back.  “Ah fuck please.”  He cried out again at a hard thrust, body shuddering with it. A bead of sweat slipped down Darren’s straining neck and Chris bent down, licking it up and tracing up the veins of Darren’s throat with his tongue.  He could taste the heat and the salt of him.  He wanted to sink his teeth in and never let go.

 

Chris found Darren’s open, panting mouth in a kiss as his thrusts picked up, becoming harder, more erratic.  The tight clench of Darren around his cock was too much.  It was too much to have him like this, flushed and hard, spread out beneath him, taking everything so good.  He wasn’t going to last, couldn’t, and he wanted, needed Darren to come first.

 

“Come on,” he groaned into Darren’s mouth, and twisted his wrist on the upstroke. Darren moaned brokenly, feeling everything draw up tight.  He was so fucking close.  “Come on come on come on.”

 

“Chris, I--”

 

And suddenly Darren was _there_ , crying out brokenly and shuddering hard as his orgasm ripped through him.  His cock jerked in Chris’ hand, long stripes of come painting his belly as wave after wave rocked through him, taking his breath away with the intensity of it, shaking him to the core. His heart felt like it might break apart.

 

Chris moaned as Darren spasmed around his cock, squeezing and throbbing around him, almost too tight, too much.  It didn’t take much more – he’d already been holding back – just a few more thrusts into Darren’s still-shuddering body before he too was coming, groaning and swearing and spilling deep inside of Darren.

 

Chris eased down on top of Darren, resting against his sweat-slick chest, still buried inside of him, as he struggled to catch his breath.  He felt Darren running soothing fingers through his sweat-damp hair and stroking lightly at his back.  He couldn’t stop trembling, and Darren was doing the same beneath him, muscles quaking, skin shivering.  Little by little, his heartbeat slowed and his breathing evened out until he thought he might be able to control his body once more.  He shifted his hips back when his cock softened, easing carefully from Darren’s body.

 

Darren gasped a little as Chris finally slipped free from his body, suddenly achingly empty.  He felt stretched and open, the hot slick of Chris’ come inside of him new and surprisingly intimate. He kept his arms around Chris’ shoulders as Chris shifted to the side, sliding off his body, but pressing close to his side, stretched against him, keeping one leg over his thighs.

 

He knew one of them should get up and get a washcloth or something, clean them up a little before they fell asleep, but he was so warm, and so tired, and so insanely comfortable he knew there was no way that was happening. Darren ran his hand down Chris’ sweat-damp back, tracing the sharp lines of his shoulder blades and let his eyes drift close again.  Just as he slipped into sleep, he felt Chris press a soft kiss to his chest, over his heart, and he fell asleep smiling.


	14. Chapter 14

Chris woke a couple of hours later, pulled from his post-orgasm, post- _everything_ exhaustion by the light of the floor lamp that was still on, and the fact that he was shivering in the almost too-cool air of his bedroom.  He was naked, curled on his side on top of the tangled sheets and comforter, and the chill ghosted across his bare skin, pulling him into wakefulness.  Chris opened his eyes and found himself blinking blearily at a mess of dark curls and a stretch of stubbled skin.

 

 _Darren_.

 

He was still asleep, sprawled on his stomach, face smooshed into the pillow – Chris’ pillow. The very pillow Chris usually rested his own head on, and now it was going to smell of Darren, of his shampoo and his sweat.  Chris shivered with something that wasn’t the cold.  Darren had somehow gotten his lower legs covered by a corner of the bedding, but the rest of him was still obviously, blissfully naked; tanned and muscular, his back a graceful curve down to the swell of his ass. Chris flushed to his ears as he stared at Darren’s ass, a shade paler than the rest of him, full and muscled and tight.

 

_God, so very tight._

 

He wanted to reach out and take a handful of that ass, squeeze and kneed, maybe spread the cheeks wide and bury his face between them.  Chris licked his lips and felt his not-exactly-soft cock twitch.  Clearly, certain parts of his body and brain were onboard with that idea.  He wondered if Darren would be too, he wondered if Darren had any limits at all.

 

Chris shifted a little and winced when he felt the sheets sticking to him. They’d fallen asleep without cleaning up at all, and Chris couldn’t help but grimace at the dried lube and come on his cock, the sweat on his skin, the traces of Darren’s come on his stomach.  Chris moved to slide out of bed, clean up a little, and turn off the goddamn light before crawling back into bed.  He remembered how it had felt to cuddle up to Darren on the sofa in his trailer, wrapped up into those strong arms.  Chris shivered to think of how much better it would be naked, Darren’s bare chest flush against his back, the scratch of his chest hair, the heat of his thighs snug behind his own, the press of his cock against the curve of his ass. Heat curled tight in Chris’ groin, making his stomach clench.

 

He startled when gentle fingers closed around his wrist, keeping him from getting up.

 

“What time is it?”  Darren’s voice was thick and rough with sleep.

 

“Not even 10.”

 

Chris looked down.  Darren’s eyes were still closed, lashes fanned thick and dark against his cheek, but his lips were curved in a soft smile.  He rubbed his cheek against the pillow a little.

 

“Oh good.” Darren’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips.  “There’s time for more then.”

 

The fingers around his wrist tightened and Chris was pulled forward as Darren shifted onto his back so that Chris ended up draped over Darren’s body. Darren’s hands, broad and warm, slid down his back until his fingertips grazed the sensitive skin at the top of Chris’ ass.

  
“Darren,” he choked out, want hitting him fast, settling hot in his stomach and reaching outwards along his limbs.  It scared him a little, how Darren affected him.

 

“Shh.” Darren’s hands slid further down until he could grip Chris’ ass. Chris’ eyes fluttered shut as Darren ground up, hardening cock thrusting against Chris’ stomach.

 

“I’m a mess. You’re a mess. We should--”

 

“We should get a little messier.”

 

Chris gasped when Darren suddenly hauled him closer, pulling him up until their hips were slotted together.  Darren’s thighs parted and Chris shuddered at the full body sense memory that hit him – of Darren underneath him, spread out open for him, panting and gasping and coming apart.  For him. Because of him.

 

Darren rocked his hips again and Chris grit his teeth at the drag of Darren’s cock against his own – too dry but still so good, the pressure and the friction sending an ache down to his balls.

 

He felt like a teenager, getting hard at the slightest touch, the barest brush of Darren’s body against his.  He didn’t want to think about how easy this was, the slide of bodies, the taste of sweat, the base pleasure of orgasms, when everything else was so damn complicated. What they were; what they weren’t. What the morning was going to look like when the bed and the pillows and the twisted sheets were a memory and they both had to walk the same red carpet, smiling at the cameras and maintaining their distance from each other.

 

Chris didn’t want to think about tomorrow, about the play, not when he had Darren under him again, hard against his own erection, and begging for him with every muscle in his body, every inch of his skin.

 

“Lube,” he ground out, unable to stop his own thrusts, arching in a slow, easy rhythm. The precome starting to bead at the tip of his cock wasn’t going to be enough.  Heat raced up his spine and flushed his cheeks. He felt sweat gathering at the small of his back.

 

“Kiss me first.”

 

Chris shifted, bracing his weight on his knees and hands and obliged, leaning in and finding Darren’s mouth in a slow, deep kiss.  Darren’s lips parted for him immediately, tongue surging, licking into Chris’ mouth.  A hand slid into Chris’ hair, holding him steady, holding him close, and he struggled to breathe.

 

He didn’t even notice Darren reaching for and finding the lube somewhere among the sheets until he felt a hand sliding between their slow-rolling bodies, leaving traces of lube in its wake.  He gasped into Darren’s mouth when Darren gripped his cock, hand cool and wet with lube against his heated skin.  Darren pumped his cock a few times, spreading the lube, and Chris shuddered at a particularly skillful twist of Darren’s wrist just under the head.

 

“Oh god,” he moaned, and bit down a little on Darren’s lower lip, soothing over the light hurt with a gentle swipe of his tongue.  Darren gripped at his ass again, squeezing with every thrust of his hips, and the dig of his fingers into the muscle made Chris’ breath catch.

 

The slide was easier now, and the hard, heated length of Darren’s cock gliding smoothly against his own made his gut clench and his pulse race, pounding hot and heavy through his veins.  Chris lowered himself to his elbows and groaned low and aching at the press of Darren’s body, from chest to knees.  Their stomachs slid slickly against each other’s, eased by gathering sweat and the traces of lube.  His fingers curled into the sheets near Darren’s head.

 

Chris loved this, loved the sweat and the scent of their musk, the salt of Darren’s skin under his tongue when he ducked his head and mouthed wetly at Darren’s neck.  He loved the heated pressed of their bodies, lean and hard and unmistakably male. How soft the skin of his cock was, the smoothness of it a delicious contrast with the rougher scratch of his pubic hair. He loved how much Darren wanted it, wanted him, how obvious he was about it, in the strain of his voice when he moaned, the heavy length of his cock, hard and throbbing for him, the rapid beat of his heart, thumping so loudly Chris swore he could hear it.

 

He didn’t want to think about how many other people Darren had done this with, had felt like this for.  It didn’t matter. He was there now. He was his.

  
Chris bit down on the solid curve of Darren’s collarbone, where any mark would be hidden by his shirt, and thrust hard, hips snapping against Darren’s, rocking Darren’s body with the force of it.

 

“Ahh,” Darren groaned, fingers tightening in Chris’ hair, sending shivers across his scalp and down his back.  “Chris.”

 

Chris mouthed across the top of Darren’s chest, loving the scratch of his chest hair against his chin and lips, and scraping his teeth against the sensitive, heated skin at the base of Darren’s throat.

 

 _Suprasternal notch_ , his brain supplied, and he wanted to suck a mark, dark and hurting, into the thin skin.

 

“You can, you should,” Darren’s head tipped back, exposing more of his throat, tendons and veins in his neck straining, sweat shining on his tanned skin. “Fuck me again.”

 

Chris shuddered.  He thought about it, about opening Darren up again with wet, careful fingers, as gentle as he could because Darren was probably still a little swollen from earlier, body tender and maybe a little sore.  He thought about easing inside again, where Darren was so hot and tight, how he would clench around him, body pulsing around his cock as Chris fucked into him with slow, gentle thrusts until he was gasping and screaming and coming.

 

He wanted to, god he wanted to, his body ached with the thought of it, but he didn’t want to stop, not when he was already so close to coming.  There would be time later for a long, drawn out fuck, when he could take Darren apart slowly, bit by bit, until he’d gone hoarse from begging and every muscle of his body was trembling with exhaustion.

 

“This,” Chris managed to gasp out, panting harshly into Darren’s neck, tonguing at the sweat sliding down.  “This is good.”

 

“So good.” Darren’s fingers grazed the crack of Chris’ ass and Chris’ hips stuttered, snapping forward sharply again.

 

Oh god, how he wanted that too, wanted Darren to flip him over and spread him out and open him up with those strong fingers and just _take_ him.  He would let him. He would ask for it. Beg for it.

 

 _Next time_ , he thought, and his brain went a little fuzzy with it.  There would be a next time.  The telltale pressure was building in the pit of his stomach and everything felt too hot, too much. He was flushed and sweating, and could feel it dripping down his back, onto the twisting sheets beneath them. His balls were aching, drawing up tight.

 

“Are you…?” He didn’t want to say _close_ , it sounded too clichéd even in his head.

 

“Yes, god yes, come on.”  Darren curled a leg around the back of Chris’ thigh, hips tilting, changing the angle just enough to make Chris groan, and bit down hard on Darren’s collarbone again. Darren shuddered underneath him.

 

Chris shifted to reach down between their bodies, but Darren stopped him with a frantic shaking of his head.

 

“No, no hands.  Just this. Just you.”

 

“Oh god.” Chris thrust hard, desperate, but unwilling to speed up.  It felt too good slow and wanton like this, the twisting of their bodies. He wanted this to last forever, but it couldn’t.

 

The hand on his ass shifted and Darren’s fingers grazed, sweat-slippery, across his hole and Chris was coming, back arching, muscles straining, and gasping his release as he came in aching spurts all over Darren’s cock and belly. Chris rested his forehead on Darren’s heaving chest as he tried to come down, hips still moving slowly, cock sliding through the mess on Darren’s belly.

 

Darren’s leg around his thigh tightened and Chris felt Darren’s stomach flex and he pumped his hips, thrusting hard and out-of-rhythm against Chris’ oversensitive cock, straining for his own release.

 

Chris tongued wetly at one of Darren’s peaked nipples, scraping it with his teeth, and that was enough.  Darren moaned and shuddered under him, body quaking as he came, and fingers tightening almost painfully in Chris’ hair.  Chris felt the wet heat of Darren’s come on his stomach, streaking down his cock, and he couldn’t stop the smile that curved his mouth.  He had never loved the mess of sex as much as he did just then.

 

Chris felt Darren go lax beneath him and heard a long, contented sigh come from him.

 

“Well,” Darren said, when he’d caught his breath, and his voice was low and husky. “We certainly got messier.”

 

Chris snorted, nuzzling at Darren’s chest, damp with sweat and smelling so strongly of man and musk and _Darren._

 

The hand on his ass slid up his back, gliding on the sweat gathered there, and swept broad, soothing strokes, up and down.  Chris felt his eyes drifting shut, sleep coming to claim him again.

 

“No, come on, no sleeping,” he roused himself, pulling back as far as he could in Darren’s hold. “Not yet.”  Just because he found he loved the mess of sweat and come, at least when it was his and Darren’s, that didn’t mean he wanted to sleep the night in it.

 

“Yes now,” Darren whined, wrapping his arms tighter around Chris’ body, trying to keep him close.

 

“No no. We’re cleaning up this time.” Chris finally extricated himself from Darren’s grasp and knelt up on the bed. Chris looked down at Darren, loose-limbed and splayed out, covered in their mess.  Gorgeous.  His eyes were heavy-lidded, whiskey-warm as he gazed back up at Chris. He was flushed pink under his tan, and a mark, Chris’ mark, stood out on his collarbone.  Chris wanted to reach out and touch it.

 

“We’re cleaning up,” Chris repeated, and finally stepped out of bed.  His body was sore, a dull ache in his hips, but he felt wonderful, relaxed.  Happy.

 

“Are you coming?” He asked Darren, when he didn’t make a move to follow.

 

“Already did. Twice.  Thanks for those.” Darren winked at him, a shit-eating grin curving his kiss-swollen lips.

  
Chris just rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself, and headed for his bathroom.

 

“Wait one second.” Darren jumped from the bed with more energy than Chris could believe and fairly jogged out of the bedroom. Chris didn’t even attempt not to stare at the bounce of his ass and flex of his thighs.

 

He came back moments later with his tote bag clutched to his chest, and a sheepish little grin on his face.

 

“I brought pajamas.  And a toothbrush. Is that – oh fuck. That was incredibly presumptuous of me.  I don’t know,” Darren stopped, cheeks flushing a pretty pink and he dropped his gaze to the floor. Chris knew what he was thinking.

 

_You don’t know what this is. You don’t know what the rules are, where the lines are.  Neither do I._

 

Chris cleared his throat, glancing at the bed with his tangle of sheets. “Not presumptuous at all. I just – I didn’t think you slept in pajamas.”

 

Darren lifted his eyes and his nervous grin changed, became a little cheeky. “I don’t, but I didn’t want to impose my wanton nakedness on you.  Not without asking.”

 

“Oh how thoughtful of you, but there’s no dress code.  Pjs are strictly optional.”

  
Darren laughed and pulled his toothbrush out of his bag before tossing it aside.  “Good.”

 

Chris turned and walked into his bathroom, smiling when he heard the shuffle of Darren’s steps behind him.  His bathroom was fairly big, but Darren stayed close as they brushed their teeth, grinning at each other in the mirror, naked hips brushing with every move.

 

Chris laughed when Darren dunked his head under the faucet after he washed his face with Chris’ soap, shaking the water out. 

 

“Come here.” Chris took a washcloth off the rack and wetted it with warm water.

  
Darren turned to him, fond smile on his face, warmth twinkling in his eyes.  He stood still as Chris wiped him down, carefully scrubbing his belly clean, rinsing the cloth again before he gently wiped at Darren’s soft cock, his touch careful, reverent.

  
As he watched Chris clean him up, Darren’s heart pounded with a different kind of passion than before, no less powerful, no less wanted. He reached out and brushed his knuckles down Chris’ cheek and Chris leaned into the touch, smiling.

 

“Your turn,” Darren murmured, taking the cloth from Chris’ fingers. He showed him the same care he’d been given, wiping him down, lingering around his bellybutton, the curve of his waist, up to the dusky pink of his nipples.

 

“Can we sleep now?” he asked, tossing the cloth into the bathtub.

 

Chris nodded and followed Darren back into his bedroom, turning off the damn lamp that had woken him up in the first place.  He slid back into his bed, under the covers this time, head resting on the pillow that now smelled of Darren, and smiled when Darren turned him onto his side, cuddling up snug behind him, hand pressed hot and possessive against his belly.

 

He was right - it definitely felt better naked.

 

*******

 

Chris woke again to Darren leaning over him, turning off the alarm clock that was blaring.

 

“You slept through the first one,” Darren explained, sinking back down, letting his hand rest on Chris’ chest.  His fingers traced light patterns, scratching at the smattering of chest hair.

  
“Can’t imagine why.”  Chris gazed up at Darren, at his messy, fuzzy hair, the dark shadow of his scruff, the red mark on his cheek where his face had been pressed into something while he slept.  The slight dimple in his cheeks when he smiled, slow and sweet, back down at Chris, at whatever it was that he saw in Chris’ eyes just then.

 

 _Darren_.

 

Chris’ heart fluttered in his chest.

 

They’d slept together before, of course they had.  They’d shared hotel rooms during the Glee Live tour, had napped together backstage during the show.  Had that afternoon on the couch in Chris’ trailer.  But this, this was different.  This was sex. There was no going back, not that Chris wanted to.  He thought he could stand to go forward.

 

“I need to get up,” Chris said.  “I’ve got rehearsals, for the play today.  I need to get showered and get my suit together and I can’t be late. This is too important and,” Darren’s lips on his cut him off.

 

“Shh,” Darren whispered against his mouth, and Chris couldn’t even care about morning breath. “Go shower.  Can I make you breakfast?”

 

“I don’t have anything.”

 

“I’ll figure it out.  Go on.” Darren pulled away and snuggled back down into the bedding, watching with warm, fond eyes as Chris pulled himself from bed and walked into the bathroom.  He didn’t bother closing the door behind him.

  
When Chris emerged from the shower, towel around his hips, hair damp and unstyled, Darren wasn’t in the bedroom, but he could smell something cooking from his frequently unused kitchen.  He thought he heard Darren humming too.

 

He went to his closet and stared at his growing collection of dark suits, light shirts, and ties.  He had an outfit he’d be wearing for the actual show, but he still needed a suit for the red carpet. He took something down and tossed it onto his messy bed, followed by a lighter blue shirt, because he liked how it looked with his eyes.

 

He was contemplating a couple of tie options when he felt, rather than heard, Darren walk up next to him.

 

“Here, breakfast.”

 

Chris turned.  Darren was wearing the pajama pants he’d brought with him and his glasses; his chest was bare and Chris raked his gaze over the pattern of chest hair, the curve of his waist. He was holding a plate in his hands.

 

“Toast topped with eggs scrambled with onions and peppers and avocado on top. Liar, you had plenty for breakfast. Except bacon. You need bacon.”  Darren picked up one of the slices of toast and held it towards Chris, quirking an eyebrow at him.  “It’s good, I promise.  I ate two already. And there’s more in the kitchen. Open up.”

 

Chris leaned in and obligingly took a bite, locking eyes with Darren as he did. The intimacy of it, the closeness, ached in his chest. He hadn’t known what their morning after would be like, but he was grateful it was like this.

 

“It’s good, thanks,” he said, blinking slowly as Darren wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

 

“Of course it is.  I’m a man of many talents.” Darren’s eyes crinkled as he smiled and Chris wanted to brush feather-soft kisses across those lines.

 

Chris let Darren continue to feed him until the toast was gone and it was Darren’s fingers he was licking at instead.

 

“You need to finish getting ready,” Darren murmured, brushing his thumb across Chris’ lower lip.  “You don’t want to be late.”

 

“Help me pick a tie.”

 

Darren turned to the closet, looking at the ties that Chris had draped over the rack. “This one.”  He picked up a dark grey tie with a subtle diagonally striped pattern and threw it around Chris’ neck.  The smooth fabric tickled his bare skin.

 

“And I’ll take this one.”  He grabbed a red tie with the same pattern.  “I’ve got something this will go with.”

  
Chris’ mouth went dry and his eyes widened.  “You,” he licked his lips.  “You’re going to wear my tie?”

  
Darren shrugged and his cheeks pinked a little. “If that’s ok with you.”

 

The implications whirled through Chris’ mind, too fast for him to stop and consider. All he knew is that he wanted it, wanted the gesture, what it meant.

 

“It’s okay.”

 

*******

 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to Chris that the first person he ran into backstage at rehearsals for the play was Matt Bomer, but it was.

 

The man called out his name, huge smile blooming on his face, and wrapped him up in a massive hug. Matt really did give the best hugs, full-body and crushing.

 

“Ahh, Christopher.”  Matt rubbed at his back.  “It’s so great to see you.  How I’ve missed you.”

 

“It’s only been like a week.”

 

“A terribly long week,” Matt countered.  “I had to go back to my real job and everything.”  He pulled back, placed his hands on Chris’ shoulders and stared straight into his eyes.  Chris swallowed, knowing how well, and how easily, Matt could read him, could know everything about him with just a glance.

 

_He’s going to know about last night. About this last week._

  
“Have you been brave?”  Matt asked, voice pitched low because of the people walking around them, and Chris swallowed, cheeks flushing pink.  He didn’t need George fucking Clooney overhearing any of this.

 

_Way to get right to the point, Bomer._

 

“You have, haven’t you?”  A knowing grin curved his mouth and he squeezed Chris’ shoulders.  “Good man.”

 

“It’s, I, we’re-” Chris fumbled for his words, blushing even more.

 

“Hey, it’s ok.  It’s good. You both stopped being idiots.” Matt patted his cheek, and from anyone else, the gesture would have been condescending.  From Matt it made Chris feel like he’d done something right. “I’m proud of you, of you both.”

 

“He’s, he’s wearing my tie.  Tonight. On the carpet.  He, we – last night.  And this morning he took my tie.  It matches the one I’m wearing.”

 

“Oh, wow.” Even Matt looked a little stunned. “That’s big.  That’s really fucking huge for you two. So you’re together. Together-together.”

 

Chris ran a trembling hand through his hair.  “I, uh, I don’t know.”

 

“Oh god, you _are_ still idiots.” Matt rolled those brilliant blue eyes of his, voice full of fondness, if not exasperation.  “Look, I’ve done my part.  You’ve got to do the rest.  Darren’s made this big, grand, if maybe a little silly gesture for you.  He knows what it means to him; you need to figure out what it means to you.”

 

“We can’t walk the carpet together.”

 

“Did I say you should?  He’s coming here for you tonight.  He’s not a part of this show – that’s you and me.  This is us doing our small little part for the community.  But he’s coming here to watch you, to support _you_.  And he’s doing it while wearing your goddamn tie. So you can’t skip hand-in-hand down the red carpet today.  So what? There may yet be a time for that. For know, the two of you need to fucking _talk to each other_. You have to know where the other stands, for anything to work out.  I can tell you one thing though – he’s not the type to fuck and run. Not you, anyway. You’ve got him. Figure out how to keep him.”

 

Chris pressed his lips together.  Matt was right.  Matt was always fucking right.  “At some point you need to stop being so goddamn wise and shit.  It’s getting really annoying.”

 

“I’ve got three kids to raise.  I’m a fucking font of wisdom and advice these days. You should be goddamn thankful you’re on the receiving end of it.”  Matt wrapped an arm around Chris’ shoulders.  “Come on – rehearsals can’t start without us, and you don’t want to mess up with your boy in the audience, do you?”


	15. Chapter 15

Darren had never really understood the appeal of a red carpet, or any other colored carpet. He got the reason for them; celebrities, pseudo-celebrities, celebrity hangers-on, they all sold photos, they all earned website hits.  They all made money.  And wasn’t that the driving force of this whole damn thing?  As loathe as he was to admit it, to even think it (because it was fucking ridiculous, he was just a guy), Darren knew he’d somehow, at some point, fallen into the slippery, nebulous, mystifying category of _celebrity_.

 

But he didn’t understand the appeal, the need for some people to parade their significant others down the red carpet at awards shows and events, past the incessant flashes of the cameras, turning this way and that at the persistent yelling of the photographers and paparazzi.  Capturing the interlocking of their fingers, the brush of a hand down a back, the twitch of a secret smile, for the whole world to see.

 

For Darren, relationships were private; love was sacred.  What was his and his lover’s was theirs alone.  He didn’t see the need, or the purpose, in sharing it with the public, especially not for someone else’s profit.

 

But Darren couldn’t deny what it would mean to walk hand in hand down a press line with Chris, in full view of all those anxious photographers. Especially this day, at this play. It would mean _something_ to so many people; it could start a dialogue. It would strike like lightning – one tweeted photograph of him and Chris, brushing shoulders, holding hands. One eyewitness report circulated across the Internet, and there’d be no going back.  The conflict, the struggle, burned cold in his belly.

 

Chris was out there, just a few dozen yards away - hands in his pockets, smiling with his mouth but not his eyes - and completely out of reach.

 

If he rushed out there right then, if he pulled Chris’ hand from his pocket and twined those fingers in his, Darren’s sexuality would become the focus of everything, immediately.  It would hardly even be about their relationship.  He knew that, and he hated it.  Resented it with every fiber of his being.  He’d never had to define himself before – not to his family, not to his friends, not at school – not in the way he knew he’d be expected to. He was who he was, and he loved who he did.  What mattered to him was the way another person could affect him and change his life, could make him see the patterns of the world with new eyes.  The rest was just body parts.

 

But there would be no explaining of the intricacies, the subtle nuances and fluid nature of sexuality to the media, to the public.  It would come down to simple binary: gay, not straight. And it would change everything in ways that it shouldn’t, in ways that Darren didn’t want.

 

It would take all the focus and attention away from the show and Chris’ movie and his book, and place it all squarely on Darren and why he _lied_.  Because it would happen, they would accuse him of just that.  The media would pounce on him and demand to know why he’d been playing it straight (or straight enough) for so long. Bisexuality, pansexuality – these were words that would never come into the discourse.  The LGBTQ* community would come after him from both sides. Some would applaud him for finally “coming out,” for standing proud with his partner, even though he’d never been _in_ ; others would decry his apparent previous hesitance to do so.  There he was, a public figure in a gay relationship on a TV show, and he himself was gay, and in a relationship.  Why hadn’t he talked about it until now?  Why was he hiding?

 

Darren wasn’t hiding anything – he never had.  But that didn’t mean he ever wanted his personal life splashed across the media, not when it would drag Chris along too, when Chris wouldn’t have any say in the matter at all.

 

Their relationship had always been a little strange, but he didn’t know when it had become so fucking complicated.

 

“Nice tie.”

 

Darren was startled out of his reverie by the familiar voice near his ear. He jumped back a little, but couldn’t stop his smile when he saw Matt Bomer standing next to him, tall and handsome in his suit.  He’d missed the man, even if he’d only been absent from set for a week.

 

“Jesus, Matt.  You scared the shit out of me.  Warn a guy next time. I can’t piss myself in fear before I go out there.”

 

Matt grinned a little wolfishly, all bright teeth and eyes.  “What’cha thinking about?”

  
“How long I can wait without having to go out there.”  Darren jerked his chin towards the carpet. Chris was still there, nearing the end, laughing at something someone had said to him, or asked of him, and Darren’s eyes lingered on him a beat too long.

 

“But don’t you want to show off that lovely tie?”  Matt asked.  He didn’t even try to hide the winking amusement in his voice.  His boys were so fucking stupid it was both adorable and endlessly frustrating.  Sometimes he just wanted to lock them into a room together with a bed and a bottle of lube and leave them there for a week.  He didn’t think, however, that was a good way to convince Ryan Murphy to have him back in the fourth season.

 

Darren just glared at Matt; there was no point in trying to obfuscate with the man. A bat-signal had probably gone up somewhere in Matt and Simon’s house the moment he’d crawled into Chris’ lap in bed.  Or maybe he’d gotten a notification on his phone when he’d invited Chris to come over.

 

Darren had half-expected Matt to show up in the morning with a cake that had “Congrats on the sex” spelled out in icing.  He certainly wouldn’t put it past him.

 

“Aww, don’t give me that look, Mr. Criss.”  Matt reached out and gripped Darren’s shoulder, squeezing it playfully. He wanted to pull Darren into his chest and rub his back and pet his hair until he realized that this whole thing with Chris wasn’t supposed to be this hard, or this confusing. “I’m happy for you two.”

 

“You talked to him.”  It wasn’t quite an accusation.

 

“We talked at rehearsals.  He told me about the tie.”

  
Darren flushed.  It had been such an impulse, to grab the red tie from Chris’ closet and take it for his own.  He’d had a whole different outfit he’d planned with his stylist for this event, but then the morning had come, _the morning after_ , and he was there in Chris’ bedroom, feeding him breakfast, and helping him get dressed.  He could have left well enough alone and gone home to put on the black suit he’d already selected, but then the tie had caught his eye.

 

A deep, rich red with the same subtle diagonal pattern as the one Chris would be wearing. A matching set. Darren had reached for it before his senses had caught up with his desires.

 

It wasn’t like anyone would really know, but there was just _something_ about wearing an article of Chris’ clothing in public, when the scent of Chris’ skin was still on him, and the press of his teeth was dug into his flesh.  And not just in public, but to the premiere of a play that Chris was involved in about gay rights.  He couldn’t walk down the red carpet with him, not yet, but he could wear something that Chris had worn, could wear the mark of him around his neck and under his clothes.

 

“It’s probably a bad idea,” Darren said, smoothing the perfectly straight tie.

 

“It’s romantic. I wear Simon’s clothes all the time. Hell, I’ve got his undies on right now.”

 

Darren glanced down at Matt’s crotch and shook his head.  “It’s what couples do.”

 

Matt shook Darren by his shoulder.  It was always two steps forward and one step back with those two. “Yeah, _exactly_.”

 

Darren wanted to step into the curve of Matt’s body and go in for the kind of comforting hug that he’d gotten so used to, but there were too many people around; it was too public.  Everything was always so fucking public.

 

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 

“Neither does he.  What did I tell you to do?”

 

“Take a chance.”

 

“And you did.”

 

“I did.”

 

“And now?”

 

Darren swallowed and looked back over his shoulder, down to where Chris was doing a quick interview with some media outlet.  “Stop being afraid.”

 

“You did really great tonight.  I mean, really great.”  Darren stepped up behind Chris and smoothed his hands down Chris’ arms, the fabric of his suit jacket slick and cool under his touch.  “You were wonderful.  Moving.  Superb.” Darren said the last with a ridiculous French accent that had Chris snorting.

 

Darren had followed Chris home after the play, after the after-party. He hadn’t known if he would be welcome again, or wanted.  But when the party was over and the guests were trickling home, Matt had taken him by the arm and steered him in Chris’ direction.  He’d been standing near the wall, looking around a little helplessly, a little lost, but his face had brightened when he’d spotted Darren coming towards him.  They’d walked next to each other, fingers brushing between them, to their respective cars.

 

“You’re biased,” Chris said and lifted his shoulders a little to help as Darren slowly drew his jacket off him. He heard the rustle of fabric as Darren tossed the jacket aside somewhere.

 

“I am. But it’s still true.” Darren leaned in and nosed at the collar of Chris’ shirt.  He could smell Chris’ shampoo and the lingering traces of cologne and sweat. “There were tears, Chris. In my eyes.”

“There are always tears in your eyes.”  Chris shivered a little as Darren untucked his shirt from his pants, fingers ghosting beneath his undershirt to skim across his waist.

 

Darren said nothing in return, and Chris held his breath as Darren carefully unknotted the tie around his neck, fingers brushing warm against his throat, sliding it free and letting it flutter to the floor.  He would hang it up later.

 

Chris stood still, or as still as he could, as Darren’s arms came around his body and his dexterous fingers found his buttons.  Darren was so warm behind him, but Chris shivered as each button wriggled loose.  Darren drew his dress shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, fingers brushing light against his bared skin, and desire flared hot and aching in his belly when Chris felt Darren’s teeth against the knob at the base of his neck. Chris’ heart sped up and his breath grew heavy.

  
His undershirt came off next, pulled up and over his head and thrown somewhere on the floor of his bedroom.  Darren’s arm curled around his middle again, hands huge on his stomach, pulling him flush against his chest.  At some point, Darren had taken his own tie and shirt off (Chris would have wondered how that happened if his brain wasn’t slowly seeping down into his cock), and his skin was so hot against Chris’ back, chest hair tickling and scratching, that it made Chris gasp.

 

Chris’ head tipped to the side as Darren mouthed along the back of his shoulder and he squirmed when one of Darren’s hands slid up his stomach to his chest, fingers brushing against a nipple, sending sweet, sharp sparks through him. Darren bit down on the knot of muscle between his shoulder and neck as his thumb swiped firmly against his nipple and Chris whined, just a little, rocking back into Darren’s embrace.

 

Darren managed to undo Chris’ belt and unzip his fly with one hand – a feat Chris attributed to both practice and natural talent – and Chris groaned, low and needy, when Darren wriggled his hand into his boxer-briefs and palmed his cock. He had him full-body then, caught tight in his arms, a hand on his chest and one on his cock, teeth at his neck - holding him still, holding him steady.  Chris could feel Darren growing hard against his ass, grinding just a little, and his hips rocked up into Darren’s hand with every slow, steady stroke.

 

Chris was thankful there wasn’t a mirror or anything in front of him, so he couldn’t see himself in that moment.  Flushed to his bellybutton, head tipped back, chest rising and falling with every ragged breath he took as Darren stroked his cock.

 

“You should take me to bed now,” he panted, shuddering when Darren’s thumb swept over the head of his cock, smearing through the gathering wetness.

 

“Yes.”

 

Chris’ sheets were still a tangled mess from that morning.  He hadn’t bothered changing them, or even straightening them before he’d left for rehearsals – not caring what they looked like. When Darren had left to get ready for the event, Chris had looked at the bed as a kind of reminder, silly as that was.  They were probably filthy too, and he didn’t care about that either.  Not when Darren was stretched out across the bed, tanned and already flushed, wriggling his pants off his hips and kicking them to the floor. Darren rubbed at his own nipples, hips shifting restlessly as he waited for Chris.

 

Chris shucked his own pants and underwear off and knelt on the bed, between Darren’s spread knees.  He ran his hands up Darren’s legs, ruffling the dark hair, feeling the muscles twitch under his touch.  His skin was always so fucking hot and the heat of him seeped through Chris’ palms and into his veins.  He reached the tops of Darren’s thighs, where he was still covered by his underwear, and he squeezed the thick muscle, digging his thumbs into the sensitive tendons of Darren’s groin.  Darren’s hips rose, just a little, as he groaned.  Darren’s cock was hard, a thick bulge behind his tight boxer-briefs. Chris glanced up to find Darren staring down at him, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, cheeks stained pink, bottom lip wet where he’d licked it.  He looked incredible, eager and willing.

Chris leaned down and opened his mouth, breathing hot against Darren through the thin fabric.  The scent of him was already so strong, thick in his nose.  Darren moaned, wanton and voice broken already, and Chris could see, actually see the twitch of Darren’s cock.  There was a darker spot on the fabric – the leak of precome – and Chris pressed in close, sucking the head into his mouth, tasting the wet of Darren around the dry cotton.

 

“Fuck,” Darren moaned, fingers twisting in his own hair.

 

“Yes, that’s the plan,” Chris murmured, mostly to himself.  He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Darren’s underwear and pulled them down, adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor. Darren’s cock lay thick and hard, curving gently up against his belly, and Chris wanted to bury his face in the crease of Darren’s thigh and breathe in deep the scent of sweat and musk and _man_.

 

Chris ran the flat of his tongue up the underside of Darren’s cock.  He didn’t want to waste time with teasing touches and drawn-out foreplay, not tonight.  He’d spent the whole day thinking of Darren, sitting in the audience, schmoozing at the party, all the while wearing his tie.  He was sure someone would notice that their ties matched (fans noticed _everything_ ), but he didn’t care.  He didn’t care then and he didn’t care now, not with Darren thick and hard and hot on his tongue, in his mouth, thrusting shallowly and panting harshly.

 

Chris pulled off too quick, too soon, grinning at the plaintive whine in Darren’s voice as he reached down for him, trying to guide him back.  Chris thought he could spend the whole night with his mouth around Darren’s cock, letting him fuck into his throat, gripping desperately at his hair.  Another night.

  
“Shh.” Chris stretched over Darren’s body, leaning down and finding his mouth in a rough, needful kiss.  He let Darren taste himself on his lips, tongues sliding wet and hot together. He could never get over the way Darren’s tongue felt against his, soft-slick and tasting of nothing and everything.  “I want you,” he panted into Darren’s mouth, shivering at the nibble of teeth on his lower lip and the scratch of fingernails down his back.

 

“Then have me.”

 

“No, I mean,” Chris broke away and the wet parting of their lips made an obscene sound in the silence of his bedroom.  He leaned over and snatched the lube from his nightstand, where he’d somehow managed to return it the other night.  He knelt back up over Darren and set the bottle on Darren’s chest. Darren’s eyes darkened with understanding, pupils widening and his hands tightening on his hips where they’d come to rest, nails digging in deep.

 

“I want _you_ to.”

 

Darren’s nails dug deeper into Chris’ hips as the thought, the reality of what Chris was asking of him, made its way from his brain to his cock. He quickly sat up, the lube dropping to the bed next to him, and wrapped his arms around Chris, pulling him back into a deep kiss.  “Whatever you want,” he whispered.  “Anything you want.”

 

 _I will give you anything_.

 

“How do you want to…?” Chris trailed off, unsure of how to ask, and unable to form a sentence with the way Darren was kissing his way down his neck, teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin.  Did Darren want him on his hands and knees?  On his back?  Did he care – did he have a preference?

 

But Darren just shuffled back on the bed until he came to rest against the headboard, propped up by a pillow.  He leaned forward and grabbed at Chris’ hips again, pulling and guiding until Chris knelt over his lap, hovering over his cock.

 

 _Oh_ , Chris thought, and it settled low and hot and aching in his belly.   He saw himself riding Darren, thighs spread, back arching, and he wanted it. He settled over Darren’s groin, grinding just a little, because he could, and smiled when Darren’s mouth fell open on a whimper.

 

“Do you know,” Chris’ eyes fluttered closed when Darren reached down and fisted his cock again, as if he needed help staying hard.  He really didn’t.  “Do you know how?  Have you done this part before?”  There were lips around one of his nipples and his fingers were tangled in Darren’s curls, holding him to his chest.

 

“Yeah,” Darren breathed, tongue at the nipple, getting it hard.  Chris couldn’t stop shivering.  “I’ve got you.”  He ran the backs of his knuckles down Chris’ chest, eyes suddenly soft and tender.

 

Chris dropped his head onto Darren’s shoulder and spread his legs as far as he could without losing his balance.  He shuddered at the sound of the lube being opened and the lewd squirt of it into Darren’s hand.  He was a confident, sexually active adult, but the thought of lube, and what it was for, and where it was going never failed to make him flush with giddy excitement, as though he was getting away with something filthy and wicked.  And maybe he was.

  
The first touch of warm wet slick between his legs had him groaning into Darren’s neck.  Darren circled his hole with a gentle, almost tentative finger, tracing the rim, getting him wet, getting him used to the feeling.  He wanted to tell Darren to hurry up, to get on with it, but his words caught in his throat as the first finger slid in.

 

“Ah, fuck,” he groaned.  His face was hot, flushed against Darren’s neck and he could feel sweat already breaking out across his back.  Chris’ hips rocked as Darren stretched him slow and careful, almost slower than he could handle. He wanted Darren in him, around him, fast hard rough _now_. He clenched down around the finger and panted.

 

 _More, fuck Darren more_.

 

“It’s been a while,” Darren whispered in his hair, nuzzling at his temple. Chris whimpered as Darren careful withdrew the finger from his body, only to return with two, coated liberally in lube, and thrust slow and deep inside of him.  “Tell me if I’m doing this right.  Or wrong.”

 

Chris didn’t have anything to say beyond incoherent babbling, aching words of encouragement and pleasure.  There was so much lube he felt it running down his thigh, and he didn’t care at all. Not when he had Darren’s fingers, thick and long, in him, stretching, searching.  Finding.

 

Chris’ back arched, body strung tight when Darren’s fingers crooked forward and found their mark.  “Ah, fuck, Darren,” he groaned.  His cock was leaking messily between their bodies, throbbing with every stroke of Darren’s fingers inside of him, against where he wanted them more, and he tried to thrust against Darren’s stomach, aching for friction.  He hoped he’d made it feel this good for Darren.

 

Three fingers had him shaking and gasping, stretching wide around Darren’s thick digits, relaxing more and more with every stretching thrust, every clever twist of Darren’s wrist.

 

He felt slick and open in a way he hadn’t in so long.  His blood was singing in his veins, heart pounding fast and heavy. Beneath him, Darren’s thighs trembled and his chest heaved with every breath he drew.

 

“Ok, ok,” Chris panted, drawing back to look at Darren.  His body clenched down reflexively around the fingers inside of him. Darren was wrecked already, pupils blown wide, cheeks red, curls damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead.  “Darren, please. You have to, please.” He didn’t want to wait anymore, couldn’t.  He ran his hands through Darren’s hair, twining the curls around his fingers.

 

“Shh.” Darren leaned in and captured his mouth in a desperate kiss, hushed him, tongue surging deep and reckless.  Chris whimpered again as those fingers left him, leaving a dull throb in their absence, and he felt the hitch in Darren’s shoulder as he slicked himself up with lube.

 

“Tell me it’s ok.” Darren gripped his hip in one hand, guiding him up, positioning him just so.  The blunt, wet head of his cock brushed across Chris’ slick opening, pushing ever so slightly against him, and he shuddered as his body gave way at the gentle pressure. Want and need coiled hot in his belly.

 

_It’s ok it’s ok it’s ok. It’s always going to be ok._

 

“Yes, Darren, god, please, I need-” Chris choked on a moan as Darren slid in, wet and hot and so breathtakingly big past the rings of muscle.  It must have only been an inch or so, before Darren paused to let him adjust, but it felt like everything and more, stretching him, making his breath catch at the fullness of it.  Chris wrapped his arms around Darren’s shoulders and held on tight. Pleasure sparkled white hot and bright along Chris’ nerves.

 

Darren fucked into him with slow, shallow thrusts that left him gasping and shaking, getting deeper and deeper until there was nowhere left, no space between them at all.  Chris rested on Darren’s trembling thighs, trying to adjust, trying to relax his body just that little bit more to take Darren.

 

“Chris,” Darren moaned into his ear, and that did it - the roughness of his voice, the want and need so apparent.  Chris felt his body open around Darren’s cock, felt the stretch ease that last little bit and he sighed.

 

“Can you…?” Darren asked, voice raw and broken. One hand was tight on Chris’ hip, the other fisting his cock.  Darren loved the weight of Chris over him, on top of him, even if he was the one fucking into Chris, slow and careful.

 

Chris nodded and flexed his thighs, rising up off Darren’s cock, pausing with the thick, flared head still inside of him, before sliding back down.  The groan that escaped him came from his very core. He spread his thighs, adjusting, and it shifted Darren inside of him just enough, just so – making the angle, the depth _perfect_ – and Chris gasped as Darren’s cock bumped against his prostate.  Pleasure sparked white hot, shuddering down his spine - too intense too much too good.

 

How had he gone so long without this?  How would he ever go without it again?’

 

He rose and sank on Darren’s cock over and over again and time melted away, lost to the slow thrusting of their bodies, the heat and the sweat, the feel of Darren hot and heavy inside of him, the stretch too incredible to stand.

 

 _Darren_. 

 

He could feel his orgasm gathering in his belly already, twisting low in his hips, could feel it rising up inside of him, as slow and relentless as the tide. Darren was a trembling, sweaty mess under him, eyes closed and mouth red and swollen from Chris’ kisses, thrusting up in tandem as Chris sank down; their rhythm easy.  Perfect.

 

Chris wanted it to go on forever, the throb of Darren’s cock, thick and long, in his ass, the drag and the weight of it.  The curl of Darren’s hand around his own cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.  The burn in his thighs as he lifted himself up and sank back down.  The trickle of sweat down the side of his neck. The pleasure sparking across every inch of his skin.

 

It couldn’t possibly last.

 

“Chris,” Darren moaned, an aching warning in his voice.  Chris managed to open his eyes and look down.  Darren was staring at him, mouth open and panting. His eyes were so dark in the dim bedroom and his pupils were so blown that they seemed almost black. He was sweating, flushed and wrecked, and utterly, completely gorgeous.

 

He wanted to hold on, to clench down, to keep his orgasm at bay, but Darren’s hips were stuttering out of rhythm and his own cock was so hard it hurt. His balls were drawing up tight to his body; he was so close.  He could feel the heat surging through him, spreading all through his limbs. His fingers tingled and his hair felt like it was standing on end.  There was no way he could last.

 

His orgasm ripped through him suddenly, almost unexpectedly, at a particularly hard thrust that hit him just right, just perfect.  He cried out, body clenching down tight around Darren’s cock, shuddering and shivering uncontrollably as his cock jerked in Darren’s fist, spilling thick ropes of come across his knuckles and streaking across his belly. It felt like it went on forever, wave after wave of white hot everything, and every deep thrust sent new shudders through him until he was raw and wrecked and oversensitive.

 

Chris finally collapsed forward into Darren, face once again pressed against his neck, struggling for breath.  His heart was bounding in his chest and his body was loose and relaxed as Darren continued to thrust into him, using him, straining for his own release.

 

“Darren,” he whispered, voice deep and rough.  He turned his face and nosed at Darren’s shoulder, sweat-damp. “Darren, come on.” He urged, and gasped when Darren’s hips jerked up rough and fast, hitting his prostate again.  His cock, still mostly hard, twitched almost painfully in Darren’s hand.

 

“Chris, I’m--”

 

“Please. Come on. I want you to.” Chris bit down on Darren’s collarbone, right over the faded mark from the night before, and that did it.  Darren cried out, voice rough and broken, almost unrecognizable, shuddering hard as he came, pulsing deep inside of Chris.  The wet hot slick of him inside made Chris gasp and shiver.  He’d never let someone come inside of him before, not without a condom, and the newness of it, the absolute filthiness of it, the fucking _intimacy_ of it made his breath catch and his heart clench.  He smiled, soft and pleased and content against Darren’s collarbone.

 

 _You are so perfect,_ he thought. _I would do anything with you. For you._

 

Chris pushed his fingers through Darren’s damp hair and stroked down his arms, across his chest, soothed him as he came down from his orgasm.  He listened as Darren’s frantic breathing slowed, and the loud pounding of his heart calmed.  Finally Darren’s hands, still trembling a little, left his hip and cock and slid up his back, smearing drying lube and come all across him and Chris just didn’t care.

 

Suddenly Darren twisted, tipping Chris onto his side; somehow he managed to stay inside of him even though his cock was softening.  Chris was glad; he welcomed the heat and fullness of Darren inside him, where he felt raw and open, wet and used.  Their legs were tangled together and Chris’ arm was caught under Darren’s shoulder, but he didn’t care about that either.  Darren shifted a bit, pressing in as close as possible, tucking his face into Chris’ neck as his hand swept broad strokes up and down his back.

 

There were a thousand things Chris wanted to say – questions, declarations.

 

 _What are we?_   _I want to love you_.

 

But Darren’s breath was deepening as he slipped into sleep, hand coming to rest at the small of his back, warm and possessive.  Chris felt his own eyes closing and he welcomed the comforting grip of sleep.

 

As he drifted off, secure in Darren’s arms, Chris thought about how long they could do this.  Go to work, go to events – separated by their agreed upon distance – and then come home together, fall into bed together.  _Be_ together.  He thought about how long it might be until someone noticed, until someone said something; how long it might be until something cracked and broke, as delicate, uncertain things tended to do.

  
They had a month.


	16. Chapter 16

Chris had been in relationships before; he’d had boyfriends, even if, in hindsight, they’d been rather more casual in nature than he’d thought at the time. At the time, they’d felt so grand, so important.  It wasn’t that he hadn’t been attracted to those other guys, he had, but he’d never felt about them the way he thought he should, the way he was supposed to.   He hated to think in those terms, because it seemed childish and naïve, but his previous relationships lacked the spark, the breath of life, that he’d always expected to feel. Chris had felt good, sure, and secure in those affairs, but not much more than that.  And those had been utterly conventional relationships. They’d met someplace (a café, a bookstore), connected, and then gone out a few times before deciding that sure, this could maybe work out.  Once, he’d even brought a boyfriend home to his parents.  It had never really worked out, obviously, but it hadn’t _not_ worked either. It had always just sort of faded away.

 

But there was nothing conventional, nothing standard about being in a relationship with Darren, and it had nothing to do with how unconventional Darren himself tended to be.  They couldn’t date, not in the traditional (if perhaps a little outdated) sense of the word. There were no candlelit dinners at a tiny, dimly lit Italian restaurant where they would share a bottle of wine and split dessert, with their feet bumping beneath the table. There were no walks along the beach, fingers tangled together between their bodies, where they would watch the sunset with all the other couples and shiver together as the temperature dropped. There were no weekend drives out to some silly destination where they sang along to an obnoxious road trip playlist with the windows rolled down and the wind blowing through their hair. They couldn’t check into some quaint and adorable little bed and breakfast owned by a kindly elderly couple who made them their favorite dishes in the morning when they came padding down the staircase and called them both ‘dear.’

 

And there were certainly no announcements.  Chris didn’t even know if any of Darren’s closest friends knew about them, if they knew about him.  He figured Darren must have said something to Joey – how could he not?  But Chris had never asked him.  And he couldn’t imagine trying to explain his new situation to his parents.  How would he tell them that he was seeing someone, seeing Darren of all people, but that they couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t reveal it?  And really, he didn’t know what they were at all. Chris didn’t want to know how his parents would react to that.  He wanted to tell Ashley more than anything, but he didn’t know what to say to her.

 

Because Chris didn’t know.  He and Darren hadn’t talked about it.  He didn’t know where they stood: as co-workers, as friends, as lovers. He thought that maybe they were some vague, tenuous collection of all three.  They weren’t boyfriends – he knew that much.  _Boyfriend_ meant something specific, something defined.  And they weren’t, no matter how badly Chris wanted them to be. It didn’t matter how much it hurt that he couldn’t take Darren’s hand in public, just for the simple comfort of it, because he knew what would happen if he did.

 

But there were other things, better things that made up for those missing pieces of their relationship.

 

Chris had Darren all to himself in the mornings sometimes, rumpled and warm in the bed next to him.  Darren often slept small, curled up on his side with one hand resting on the pillow near his face. Other times, he slept stretched out on his back with his arms folded across his chest.  Chris couldn’t understand how that was comfortable, but it meant that, if he woke before Darren, he could turn to his side and stare at Darren’s profile.  He could let his eyes sweep along the line of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the dark shadow of his stubble.  Chris could lean in close and press light, sweet kisses to that jaw, mouthing his way down Darren’s neck until he felt the telltale, restless shift of Darren waking up and heard the sharp intake of breath when he set his teeth against Darren’s collarbone.

 

And Chris had Darren in his house more nights than not.  Joey was off to Chicago rehearsing with the rest of the Starkids for their upcoming tour, and Chris assumed that Darren would want to enjoy the time alone in his apartment, doing whatever weird nonsense it was that he did whenever he had a spare few moments to himself.  But instead, more often than not, Chris found Darren knocking at his door, bags of take out in hand, or simply following him home after shooting ended for the day.

 

There was something achingly wonderful about being on his couch in the living room, working away at the million and twelve things that he had going – scheduling the book tour, working out screenings for his movie – and being able to glance over and find Darren sitting next to him, wearing comfortable clothes and working on his own stuff.  Sometimes Darren had his laptop out, and other times he just had his phone.  They’d both have their feet propped up on the coffee table, and Darren would rub at his ankle with his toes, laughing whenever Chris told him to knock it off, because they both knew he didn’t mean it. 

 

Chris’ favorite evenings were when Darren was camped out on his floor and leaning against his couch, with his acoustic guitar in hand and sheet music scattered all around him.  He thought he would find it distracting, the first time Darren brought his guitar over, but instead Chris found the notes echoing through his home to be comforting. He never asked what Darren was composing, but it didn’t matter.  It was beautiful, and it was Darren, and Chris would listen to whatever he was offered.

 

But sometimes Chris would look over to mention something to Darren, or just to sneak a glance at him, only to find Darren fast asleep, head tipped back against the back of the couch, snuffling just a little in his sleep.  He would grin, then, and shake his head a little. There was no point in trying to wake him up, so Chris would merely put his work away, turn out the lights, and settle back down on to the couch, resting his head on Darren’s thigh and letting himself drift off to sleep.  Sometimes Darren woke after a few hours and would get them both into bed, but other times they spent the whole night on the couch. In the morning, Darren would apologize for being an ass and falling asleep on Chris, but Chris would just shut him up with slow, deep kisses that probably tasted terrible but fuck it. Chris had never cared less about morning breath than he did with Darren.

 

They had breakfast together one morning at Darren’s favorite little hole in the wall, the one where Chris had so often picked up breakfast for the two of them to bring to set.  Chris didn’t know when it happened, but somehow the place had become one of his favorites too.  He knew it wasn’t just the bagels and coffee.

 

It was a risk, to eat together like that, and a huge one.  One photo of them out somewhere together, somewhere decidedly not work-related, and it would be all over.  It probably didn’t help that Darren was in an old Michigan shirt and Chris was wearing his glasses because he hadn’t felt like putting his contacts in.  It just _looked_ like they were together, like they were enjoying a quiet Sunday breakfast together.  But the café was out of the way and completely off the radar – it wasn’t like they were brunching at the Ivy and expecting no one to notice.  But as private as he was, even Chris got tired of slinking around in the shadows.  Darren had suggested breakfast out and Chris was going to take what he could get.

 

Ella, the barista, had merely cocked her eyebrow at the two of them coming into the café together.  Darren had almost opened the door for him.  Chris had caught the way his hand automatically reached out for the handle before he caught himself and pulled back.  Chris had wanted to laugh, but it really wasn’t funny at all.

 

Besides, there was a table in the back, around a corner, and almost completely hidden from view.  Chris counted it as a date, even if it was just breakfast.  It had felt like a taste of the very thing he wanted the most.

And, of course, there was the sex.  He knew that sex didn’t make a relationship - that it wasn’t the most important part - but Chris would never, could never, deny the delight he found in it, and the closeness he felt with Darren whenever they were intimate.  Which, if he was perfectly honest, was rather often. Darren was an exuberant, joyful, _fun_ lover, and Chris absolutely couldn’t get enough of him.

 

A month was time enough to discover all the wonderful things about Darren’s body he thought he’d never know: the thick muscles in his thighs, the slender curve of his waist, the long strength of his back.  Chris didn’t understand Darren’s body – how one day it almost seemed like he had a little belly and Chris would run his fingers across the soft, lightly haired skin, and then the next day, he was all tight abs and muscle.  Chris didn’t have a preference – he just wanted to touch.  And Darren really loved to be touched, at least by him. Chris loved how responsive Darren was to each and every touch, how he arched and strained for Chris. He loved how loud Darren got in his bedroom, or his kitchen, or his shower, because he could, because they weren’t trying to keep quiet in one of the trailers on set.

 

A month was enough time for Chris to memorize the shape of Darren’s cock, the taste of him, bitter and salty on his tongue.  It was enough time to find all the sensitive little spots that got him writhing and panting and close to wrecked so quickly.  His collarbone.  The curve of his ribcage.  The inside of his thigh.  His ass.  Chris exploited those spots as best he knew how – getting Darren flushed and sweating and panting, cursing at him to just get on with it before he died.  Sometimes, Chris liked to draw it out, long and slow, spending hours just touching and tasting, getting Darren close and then closer, and then backing down.  Other nights, Chris just couldn’t wait to get inside, or for Darren to.

 

Chris learned that Darren loved blowjobs, like most every other guy, but that he actually preferred frotting, that he wanted the slick drag of skin on skin over the wet slide of a mouth (although he’d never, ever say no to it). He learned that Darren didn’t care at all about who topped, but that there were some nights when Darren would roll onto his back and pull Chris between his thighs, begging with his eyes and his lips and his arms.  He found out that Darren loved, absolutely loved, to rim him.  Darren loved to get him up on his hands and knees, spread him wide, and see how deep his tongue could go.  Nothing had ever gotten Chris off as hard and as fast as the first time Darren’s tongue had slipped inside of him, impossibly deep and relentless until he was a shaking, panting mess.

 

And with sex came the _after_ , when Darren was sated and pliant, smiling happily against Chris’ neck or his lips. Sometimes, they’d fall asleep right on top of each other, exhausted after a long day of filming or rehearsing, and then a long night of each other.  But other times, Darren would run his hands across Chris’ body, sliding across the cooling sweat on his skin, swiping through the mess on their bellies. He would scratch his fingers through Chris’ damp hair and pet at his waist, his thighs, gentling him down from his orgasm.  Darren always touched him like he was precious.

 

And then there was the look in Darren’s eyes, a warmth and depth that Chris couldn’t name but recognized.  They never talked about what they were or what they were doing, but Chris knew fondness and affection when he saw it.  He knew that Darren was feeling something for him even if he never said anything. He could only hope that what Darren felt for him was similar to what he was feeling.

 

He didn’t want to say he was falling in love, because it was too much, too big - too dangerous.  But he knew what was there, at least for him, and it didn’t matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

 

But things fall apart.  It doesn’t take much for a tenuous thread to snap.

 

*******

  
Chris was tired.  Filming the show, writing his book, and getting his movie done and out, all at the same time, seemed to have finally caught up with him.  He didn’t want to say he was exhausted, but he was definitely looking forward to a summer without early Glee call times and late nights stuck on set.  Half of him just wanted to go back to his trailer and crash for the next hour until he had to get back, but his stomach protested the very idea.  He realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast – which was a quick bowl of cereal in his kitchen while he watched Darren putter around his home, looking for the shoes he’d kicked off the night before.

 

It was one of those increasingly rare times when most of the cast had lunch together. As the end of the season approached, the filming pace picked up, moving from fast to frantic. No matter how many seasons they completed, it always felt like they ran out of time at the end.

  
Darren was already at a table with Chord, Mark, and Lea by the time Chris filled up his lunch tray with more food than he should probably eat. There was space enough for Chris between Mark and Darren – there was a perfect body space actually – but Chris thought that maybe he shouldn’t.  He’d already been caught the day before coming out of Darren’s trailer by Mark, which wouldn’t have been so bad except for the fact that he had blushed furiously and stammered something incoherent.  Mark had cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked until he slunk off back to the hair and makeup trailer to fix his hair – Darren had a habit of running his fingers through it.

 

Darren’s eyebrows rose in greeting and his face brightened when he saw Chris approaching the table.  He waved and shifted over just a little bit more, making it clear he’d saved Chris a seat for lunch.  But Chris paled when he saw Mark sneak a quick glance at Darren before he looked back over and winked at Chris.

 

So, studiously ignoring Darren’s confused and crestfallen expression, Chris sat on the other side of the table, next to Chord, who looked over at him in surprise.

 

“Whoa man, you might want to be careful.”  His tone was teasing.

 

Chris froze with his ass barely on the bench and the lunch tray still gripped in his hands. “What?”

 

“Don’t want to sit too close to me, do you?” Chord nudged him playfully with his elbow and waggled his eyebrows.  “I’d hate for Darren here to get jealous or anything.”

 

All of the blood drained from his face and his knuckles whitened as his grip on the tray tightened.

 

_He knows.  How the fuck could he know?  Do they all know?_

  
Chris opened his mouth to say something, to say anything, but Darren beat him to it.

 

“What are you even talking about, man?  Jealous?  Why the fuck would I get jealous?”  Darren’s voice was tight, as though he was choking on something, and he refused to meet Chris’ eyes across the table.

 

“Uh.” Chord looked around the table and Chris followed his gaze.  Mark looked concerned, while Darren looked panicked. Lea just looked disappointed. “Because, you know, you two are-“ he trailed off and made an exceptionally vague hand gesture.

 

“We’re not anything,” Darren interrupted, and this time his voice was harsh. Chris almost gasped and hurt spiked hard in his chest, made his breath catch.  “We’re just friends, man.  You know that.”

 

Chris felt the world drop out from beneath him.  His body went cold as the blood rushed in his ears. There it was, the line in the sand – Darren’s line.  They could fuck behind closed doors, but that was it.  There was nothing more.  They were nothing more.

 

_I’m such a fool._

 

Chris stood from the table, ignoring the protests of his cast mates, of Darren, and walked off.  He blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.  He heard Darren calling out for him, telling him to stop, to come back. But he couldn’t. Chris thought his heart might never stop hurting.

 

_So much for being brave._


	17. Chapter 17

Chris went home. He didn’t care that he had another scene scheduled and that it was utterly, completely unprofessional of him. He’d spent the last three years of his life showing up to work on time every morning and staying late whenever he needed to.  He never complained.  He never griped and moaned about Kurt’s increasingly ridiculous storylines, even when he would have been totally justified in doing so.  It was his job, and he was damn good at it.  But he couldn’t handle it.  Not that day.

 

He couldn’t do another scene with Darren – couldn’t even stand to be around him. He couldn’t find his mark across from him, look into his big fucking eyes, and say something heartfelt that two teenage boys would probably never say to each other.  Chris didn’t think he could even sit next to Darren in the choir room, saying nothing at all, as someone else filmed their performance scene or ran their lines of dialogue.  There was no way.  Chris would never consider himself a violent person, per se (sai swords aside), but he thought that if he were forced to sit next to Darren for the rest of the day, if he had to hear him breathing and smell his shampoo and his goddamn cologne every time he passed by, Chris just might punch him. He couldn’t even go into his trailer.  Everything in there reminded him of Darren, smelled of him, and held memories of the last couple of months with him.  Chris was sure one of Darren’s hoodies was currently hanging off the back of a chair.

 

 _You’ve ruined everything,_ he thought, and his chest felt too tight. But he didn’t know who he was talking about.

 

He should have seen this coming.  He should have known that it would come to this, that it would all fall apart at the slightest push.  There was no other outcome.  How could there be?

  
Chris collapsed on his couch and buried his face in his hands. He felt hotly embarrassed. Everyone always, always said that work romances were a no good, very bad idea.  Everyone knew that they could never work and inevitably ended in heartache and broken friendships.  And sometimes they even ruined shows.  And here was the proof.  Here was the living, breathing proof that he was an idiot.

 

How was he going to do his job?  How was he going to run lines and rehearse with Darren when the very thought of him – of what they’d done and what they’d lost so quickly – made his chest ache and his knees shake?  How was he going to show up tomorrow morning and face the rest of the cast, and the crew, who knew? Because they’d all know now, if they hadn’t before.  They’d know how severely he’d fucked up.  Everyone would be talking about it, whispering and gossiping about how Chris and Darren had taken their characters just a little too far and gotten themselves into trouble.  They’d all been warned, expressly _told_ , not to get into relationships with each other while the show was still on the air. It was messy and complicated and tangled, and it always ended badly.

 

He’d run away that afternoon – he’d run like a humiliated child with a bruised ego. But he was humiliated. Embarrassed and shamed that it had happened in public the way that it had.  He wanted to turn out the lights and curl up in his bed with his new cat and quite possibly cry until he fell asleep.  Maybe he’d wake in the morning and discover that it’d all been a horrible dream.

 

Chris’ heart stopped and then leapt to his throat when he heard three achingly, painfully familiar taps on his front door.

 

 _Darren_.

 

He wanted to tell him to fuck off, to go away.  But it was just another thing that he couldn’t do. Chris imagined that if he told Darren to leave him alone, he’d get up in the morning to drag himself to work and he’d find Darren asleep on his doorstep.

 

 _Haven’t you done enough?_ He thought bitterly.

  
But the knocks sounded again, more urgent this time, and Chris found himself on his feet and unlocking the door before he could stop himself.

 

Darren was standing there, of course he fucking was, and he was breathing heavily with exertion or nerves or any number of things.

 

“You should go,” Chris said wearily.  He didn’t want to do this, whatever this was about to be.  He stared at the space of floor between Darren’s feet, unwilling to look at his face or into his eyes.  His heart was already beating too fast as the adrenaline pumped through him.

 

“No,” Darren replied.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“Why are you even here?”

 

“Can I,” Darren paused and Chris watched him shift uncomfortably.  “Can I come inside?  Please?” His voice was soft and pleading.  “I don’t want to do this on your stoop.”

 

 _Do what?  You don’t need to break up with me_ , Chris thought, and it tasted like the end.  He stepped aside, however, and let Darren into his house.  He stepped away and put some space between them, moving near the couch even though he wanted to bolt out the door.  Perhaps he could get some closure for this.  Be done with it completely.  Maybe at some point he could go back to work with his head held high. Someday.

 

“Chris, I – can you look at me?”

 

Chris finally looked up.  Darren’s arms were wrapped tightly around his body and his shoulders were hunched in, making himself small.  His hair was a mess, still harshly styled from set, but it was all over the place, as though he’d been running his hands through it.  He probably had.

 

“Why are you here?” Chris repeated, and he folded his own arms protectively around himself. He felt like he might burst out of his skin with the tension.

 

“You left before I could explain.”

 

“Maybe I was afraid of what else you were going to say?”

 

“That doesn’t – what?”  Darren blinked at him.

 

“You said we weren’t anything.  You said that.”  Chris felt the anger welling up in him again, rising beneath the hurt that already burned hot and rasping through him.  He felt flushed and he just wanted to walk away again.  But he was in his own home.  “You told everyone that we’re just _friends_.  You made your feelings about us perfectly clear.”

 

“I didn’t mean-”

 

“Didn’t mean what?  You could have said anything.  _Anything_.”  Chris dug his fingernails deeper into his arms.  He felt shaky and the sharp pain of it was moderately distracting.

 

“I was hurt, ok?”

 

“What?”

 

“You didn’t – you didn’t sit next to me.  I left a spot for you.”  Darren looked away from him and a flush traveled from his cheeks, down his neck, and spread across his collarbones.  His voice was small and broken, cracked through like shattered glass.

 

Chris felt the air punch out of him.  There was no way Darren was going to make this his fault. “I,” he started, but didn’t know how to finish.

 

“I figured you didn’t want anyone to know about us.  I thought you were – ashamed of me or something. I thought you were trying to hide me.”

 

Chris swallowed.  “Did we even have anything to hide?”  He asked, and he regretted the words as soon as they left his lips.  Darren looked like he’d been slapped. His jaw fell open a little and Chris had to look away from the raw hurt in his eyes.

  
“How can you not know?” He dragged a hand through his hair, breaking up the product even more.  “How can you not fucking know how I feel about you?  What you mean to me?”

  
Chris closed his eyes.  He thought of Darren sending him stupid text messages throughout the day, when they were sitting next to each other on set, or when Darren was off in New York doing whatever it was he did when he was there.  He saw Darren in the morning, loose-limbed and sleepy, all wild-haired and uncomplicated kisses.  He thought about Darren bringing him another drink – a bottle of water, a can of soda – when he was lost deep in his work, setting the drink on the table near him, yet saying nothing.  He saw Darren, _Darren_ , stretched out panting and wrecked beneath him, muscles straining and voice raw as he moaned his name over and over again.  He saw _Darren._  

 

“Look,” Chris took a deep breath.  “I know you have this San Francisco, bohemian, anything goes, fuck labels thing going for you, but how was I supposed to know?  Honestly?”

 

“I just,” Darren swallowed thickly.  He twitched like he wanted to step towards Chris, but stopped himself. “I thought you’d get it. I thought you got it.”

 

“How was I supposed to get it?  How was I supposed to know?  People like you don’t happen to people like me.”  Chris rubbed his jaw.  He hadn’t meant to say something like that.

 

“People like _me_?  People like _you_.”

 

“That doesn’t make any goddamn sense, Darren.”

 

“ _You’re_ not making any sense.” Darren gestured wildly at him.  
  
“Stop fucking repeating me!”

 

Darren’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click.  He was breathing heavily and so was Chris.  The air felt thick and charged.  Darren rubbed his hands across his face.

 

“Chris, I, fuck, man.  I’m in love with you, ok? I’m in love with the smell of your hair in the rain and the sound of your footsteps in the dark.” Darren dragged both of his hands through his hair.  His face was drawn tight; he didn’t look like a man who’d just expressed his very heart. “And I hate that I don’t know how you feel about me.”

 

Chris couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear anything past the rush of blood in his ears. The world narrowed to Darren, standing in his living room, confessing everything. His own heart was in his throat.

 

“You’re so stupid,” Chris took a careful step forward and Darren sucked in a breath. “How can you not know?”

 

“You – you’ve never said anything.”

 

“Neither have you.  Until now.”

 

Darren shook his head ruefully.  “I’m so, so fucking sorry.”

 

Chris took another step towards Darren, closing the distance between them. “I am too.”  He had to be the one to do this.  He’d been the one to run off, he needed to be the one to bring them back together.

 

Chris reached out and rested his hand on Darren’s forearm.  Darren gasped a little, and his arm jerked under the touch. Chris slid his hand down Darren’s arm until their hands met and their fingers twined together; Chris almost sighed in relief.  He took that final step closer and curled his other arm around Darren’s shoulders, pulling him in, and Darren sagged against him.  Chris took a long, deep breath, and let the scent of Darren, the warmth of his body, seep into him.

 

 _I’m sorry and I love you_ , Chris thought.

 

“You could say it too, you know.”  Darren murmured into his ear, warm and teasing, and his arm slid around Chris’ waist.

 

“Say what?”

 

“Chris.”

 

“I’m in love with you, you idiot.”

 

“Good to know,” Darren leaned back and met Chris’ eyes.  His gaze was affectionate, warm, and loving.  “You should kiss me now.” Darren ran his knuckles gently down Chris’ cheek; Chris shivered.  “That’s what couples tend to do after a fight.  It only seems right.”

 

 _Couples_.

 

Chris surged in, gripping Darren’s hand tightly in his own as their lips met. Darren’s mouth opened under his with a sharp intake of breath and Chris shuddered at the first wet swipe of Darren’s tongue across his lower lip.  He wanted to moan, but all of the air was being pulled from his lungs by the scrape of Darren’s teeth against his lip and the slide of his tongue in his mouth.

  
“Can we,” Darren shifted against him, and pressed a thigh between Chris’ legs.

 

_Everything._

 

*******

 

Chris’ bedroom was bathed in a warm, hazy light from the afternoon sun slanting through the windows, and it made Darren’s skin glow an even more golden shade of tan where he lay stripped bare across Chris’ bed.  Chris trailed his fingers down Darren’s sweat-slick torso, rubbing at his nipples, and he tightened his mouth around Darren’s cock. Darren groaned his name, his voice deep and rough, and his hips shifted restlessly against the bed.

 

They’d already gotten off once; rutting slow and wanton against each other as the sheets tangled around their legs and stuck to their sweating bodies, coming with bone-shaking intensity.  But it wasn’t enough. Chris didn’t think there would ever be; he didn’t want it to be enough.

 

Darren’s cock was thick and heavy on his tongue and the musk of him filled Chris’ senses, made him moan around Darren’s length.  Chris sank lower until the head of Darren’s cock nudged at the back of his throat and the defined muscles of his thighs shivered under Chris’ palms.  He breathed in through his nose and willed himself to relax, to let Darren in. He shuddered when Darren slipped that little bit deeper down his throat and he swallowed as best he could; Darren moaned and his hips thrust up.  Chris rode the movement, and he only pulled off when Darren tugged warningly at his hair and pawed at his shoulders.

 

Chris slid up Darren’s body, shivering as Darren’s thighs easily spread wide to make room for him.  Darren’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him down into a wet, messy kiss. Chris whimpered into his mouth and stroked his fingers through Darren’s hair.  Darren’s knees drew up, bracketing Chris’ body, and he thrust up, dragging his spit-slick cock against Chris’ stomach.

 

“Come on,” Darren whimpered, thrusting up against him when Chris dropped his head and bit down on his collarbone.

 

The lube was already on the bed next to Darren, dropped there from earlier. They’d known that they’d need it again. Darren reached blindly for it and pressed the bottle into Chris’ hand.

 

Chris loved Darren like this, moaning and arching off the bed with three fingers thrusting deep into his ass as sweat dripped down his neck and his chest heaved with every shuddering breath he took.  He loved Darren every way, but there was something about Darren lost deep in desire that made Chris’ belly ache and tighten with want. This man was his. All his.

 

“How do you want…?” Chris’ question trailed off as Darren’s legs lifted and wrapped around his waist.  Darren tugged him forward and the head of Chris’ cock bumped wetly against Darren’s stretched, lubed hole.  He gasped and squeezed his eyes shut against the sensation.

 

“Just like this. This is good,” Darren panted and his fingers dug into Chris’ back.  There were going to be marks, he could tell, and he reveled in the knowledge of them.

 

Chris pushed in slow and careful, easing past the rings of muscle into the wet heat of Darren’s body.  Darren moaned, low and aching, and his head tipped back, exposing his throat as he stared sightlessly at the ceiling.  His pupils were blown so wide his eyes appeared black, just a ring of warm-whiskey color left around the edges.  Chris paused, letting Darren adjust around his cock, before he pushed in deeper, all the way until his balls were flush to Darren’s ass.

 

He didn’t know how anyone ever got used to this – to the heat and tightness and the slick slide of two bodies straining together.  Chris drew his hips back, slow and careful, until just the head was left inside Darren’s body. Darren tightened around him, keeping him inside, and Chris choked on his breath.

 

“Darren,” he moaned.  The heat was pooling in his belly, spreading along his limbs.

 

“Chris, please.  You have to move. Please.”  Darren’s voice was raw and broken already and Chris could refuse him nothing.  He thrust back in, shivering at the obscene wet sound of it over the roaring of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart.

 

Chris kept his thrusts slow, but deep, rocking Darren’s body with every forceful rocking of his hips.  The time stretched like taffy, pulling slow and substantial between them.  The room grew warm and the air grew thick. Darren’s mouth was heated and slick, tasted of everything and nothing, and Chris kissed him deeply, sucking on his tongue and panting against his lips when he needed more air. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back, could feel the tightening of his balls against his body as he drew ever closer to his orgasm.  He needed Darren there with him.

 

Chris reached down between their bodies and grasped Darren’s slick, flushed cock. Darren moaned and arched underneath him at the touch and his ass tightened around Chris’ cock. His hands slid through Chris’ hair before he gripped at his shoulders again.  Chris pumped Darren’s cock slowly, swiping his thumb rhythmically across the flared head, spreading the leaking wetness. Chris briefly sucked his thumb into his mouth and tasted the bitter salt of Darren.  He shifted just slightly, angling up as best as he could, and fucked deeper into Darren.  The noise that escaped from Darren, low and raw, pulled from his very bones, and the way his entire body shuddered let Chris know he’d found just the right angle.

 

“Ah, fuck.” Darren’s body tightened around him as Chris fucked up against that smooth gland again and again, and Chris thrilled at the shudders that wracked through Darren’s body.  He loved that he could make Darren feel this way.

 

Darren’s nails scraped down his back, bright streaks of pain that made his toes curl and the hair on the back of his neck stand up.  “Chris, please, you-”

 

Chris dragged his lips down Darren’s neck, sucking marks deep into the heated skin. He resisted the almost overwhelming urge to bite down hard.  He didn’t care that they’d be noticeable for a day or two – dark and obvious against Darren’s skin.  Darren could put makeup on them if he wanted to hide them.  Chris hoped he wouldn’t.

 

The heat was gathering in his belly, traveling up his spine, and curling through his limbs. He snapped his hips forward once, twice, and he gasped in surprise when Darren suddenly clenched down tight around his cock as he came, hot stripes of come spilling over Chris’ fist and onto his own belly.

 

“Fuck,” Darren cried out, his body spasming and quaking hard.  He was so gorgeous like this – flushed red with exertion, cock jerking and spitting come, chest heaving with every gasping breath. He was gorgeous always.

 

Chris pressed his face into Darren’s throat.  His balls were drawn up tight against his body and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.  Couldn’t. He licked a hot path along Darren’s neck, tasted sweat and salt and _Darren,_ and set his teeth into Darren’s collarbone.  A tremor passed through Darren’s body and his ass tightened almost painfully around Chris’ cock.  The heat burst bright and overwhelming and Chris shouted Darren’s name as he came deep inside of his body, pulsing hot and wet and so, so very good.

 

He couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t slow the heavy pounding of his heart.  Darren’s legs were still wrapped around his waist and his big, warm hands were stroking down his back in broad, soothing strokes - gentling him down from his orgasm. He didn’t know how long he stayed there, panting against Darren’s collarbone, still buried deep inside of him, and their hearts finally stopped pounding and their breathing evened out.

 

When he could move again, Chris slid off of Darren, his softening cock slipping wetly from Darren’s body.  He turned onto his back and pulled Darren into his arms.  Chris shivered when felt Darren press a soft kiss to his chest, just over his heart.

 

Darren draped himself across Chris’ body, folding his arms on Chris’ chest and resting his chin on them.  He gazed up at Chris’ relaxed, almost serene face.

  
Chris’ eyes were still closed, his sweat-damp hair pushed back from his forehead, made a tangled mess by Darren’s grasping, tugging fingers. His cheeks still shone with sweat and a flush traveled all the way down to his navel.  Darren thought he looked beautiful.

 

“You’re staring.”

 

Darren grinned when Chris spoke, his voice deeper than usual, but soft and sleepy. Content.  Happy.

 

“Am not,” Darren countered.  He stroked his thumb across Chris’ chest and felt the rasp of hair against his skin.

 

“Yes you are.  I can feel it. Stop looking at me. I’m a mess.”

 

Chris could feel the sweat cooling on his skin and there was come drying tacky on his stomach, Darren’s come, and he was sure that Darren could feel it against his own stomach where he was pressed snug to Chris’ belly.

 

“We’re both messes.  I like it.” Darren could still feel traces of lube on his inner thighs and in his ass, right where he ached, just a little, just a low gentle throb that flared when he shifted his hips just so. It felt like a reminder. Like proof.

 

“You would like it.  Go to sleep. Shouldn’t you be in some post-orgasm haze right now?  I am. Or I was.”

 

“Can’t.” Darren ducked and brushed his lips up Chris’ sternum.  “Your cat is staring at me.”

 

Chris finally opened his eyes at that and looked down his chest at Darren, who was grinning stupidly at him, eyes bright and whiskey-warm.

 

 _I am so fucking in love with you_ , Chris thought. And it was bright and warm and wonderful inside of him.

 

Darren was so very gorgeous like this – flushed and shining with sweat, lips still red and swollen from their kisses and bite marks prominent on his throat. Chris wanted to press his fingers to the new bruises, just to see if Darren would close his eyes and groan from that heady mixture of pleasure and pain.

 

“What?”

 

“Your cat is staring at me.  Glaring, actually.”

 

Chris craned his head back to follow Darren’s gaze.  Sure enough, Brian was sitting on the nightstand, uncomfortably close to the bottle of lube Chris had apparently managed to toss up there at some point. And the cat did seem to be staring rather intensely at Darren, though, truth be told, Brian often had that particular look on his face.

 

“He’s jealous,” said Darren.

 

“He is not,” Chris scoffed.

 

“I’m in his favorite spot.  Your lap.” Darren narrowed his eyes at the cat and he bared his teeth, just a little.  “It’s my spot now, Brian.  Get used to it.”

 

Brian’s whiskers twitched and he leapt rather ungracefully to the floor. His tail flicked in a clear ‘fuck you’ as he left the bedroom.

 

Chris sighed and rolled his eyes at the both of them, but happiness bubbled all through his veins and danced along his skin.  “Stop talking to my cat.”

 

“We were having a moment.  I was establishing my dominance over him.  It’s a pack thing.”

 

“He’s a cat, not a dog.  He doesn’t care.”

  
Darren scrunched his nose up.  “Awfully rude of him.”

 

“I really am an idiot, aren’t I?”  Chris murmured, running his fingers through Darren’s damp, insanely messy hair. He scratched softly at his scalp, making Darren moan a little in appreciation.

 

“Huh?”

 

“This. Us.  We could have had this so long ago. This could have been us.” Chris trailed his fingers lightly down Darren’s cheek, felt the scratch of the rough stubble, before cupping Darren’s jaw.  He rubbed his thumb across Darren’s full lips.  “This should have been us.”

 

Darren smiled softly and drew Chris’ thumb between his lips.  Sated as he was, Chris couldn’t help the shiver of want that coursed down his spine.  “This is us now.”

 

“Stay,” Chris murmured, and Darren blinked slowly at him.

 

“The night?”

 

“Or longer.” Chris brushed his fingers down Darren’s check and the smile that curved his lips was sweet and adoring.

 

Chris didn’t know what was going to happen in the morning, when they showed up together on set, but he knew that he wanted Darren, that he loved him, and that was going to have to be the starting point for everything else.


End file.
